


The Soldier and The Saarebas

by twelvicity (Rii)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Light Bondage, M/M, Role Reversal, Slow Burn, Species Swap, Trust Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 02:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5725555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rii/pseuds/twelvicity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - In which the Inquisition is joined by Captain Taurius Ferrus, a human soldier from Tevinter and a veteran of Seheron, and a Tal-Vashoth Saarebas with the chosen name of Dorian.  The timeline is irrevocably changed.  Will the man of Tevinter fall for the Qunari, despite their differences?  (Spoiler: Probably)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was 100% inspired by this [tweet/piece of art](https://twitter.com/uotuok/status/686690115104669696) (posted on tumblr [here](http://sometrashland.tumblr.com/post/137118006238/no-one-else-can-make-me-feel-the-colors-that-you)) drawn by the lovely [Koutou](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Koutou) and requested by [@LyaGobetti](https://twitter.com/LyaGobetti). If anything, blame them.
> 
> There's also a piece of art by [neomeruru](http://archiveofourown.org/users/neomeruru) which you can find [here!](http://chaoslindsay.tumblr.com/post/137292058319/a-quick-little-sketch-because-twelvicity-and)

 

There were two men standing at the gates of Haven. They wore fine armor, and their weapons were sheathed. The larger of the two spoke politely and with open hands about wishing to meet with whomever was in charge.

The Herald and her advisors proceeded to the gates shortly thereafter, though not with the intention of greeting the men as friends or allies. They came subtly armed, and let Josephine do the talking.

After all, the men bore the standard of the Tevinter Imperium, but little else. Caution and cordiality were their best and most immediate weapons.

“Avanna benefar, gentlemen,” Josephine began, curtseying slightly. “Whom do we have the pleasure of addressing today?”

The larger man held his hand over his chest in salute. He was copper-brown and tall - well over six feet - and his black hair was closely-cut to his scalp, almost shaven. He wore an eyepatch and a cracked-lip smile. “Captain Taurius Ferrus, ma’am, of the Imperial Army,” he said. “And this is my lieutenant, Cremisius Aclassi.”

The lieutenant bowed his head in acknowledgment. Leliana and Cullen were already exchanging glances.

“I beg your pardon - Captain Taurius Ferrus, you say?” Josephine said.

“Yes indeed, ma’am.”

Josephine looked back at the other advisors, for a moment, before clearing her throat. “Well, your reputation precedes you, Captain. I have heard much of your… campaigns.”

“Ha, well, stories do get around,” Taurius said, with a crafted, humble smile. “Mind if we continue indoors? I’m not really used to the cold.”

“I believe we deserve to know the reason for this visit, Captain,” Josephine said. “Given that we were not informed of your arrival.”

“Of course, ma’am. I am here not as an enemy or conqueror, but as a messenger and ambassador," Taurius said. “The Imperium has found that its goals align with the aims of your organization, here, and wishes to provide aid.”

“And what, pray tell, would those goals be?” Cullen said. Josephine shot him a small, peevish glance, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Closing the rift in the sky, mostly,” Taurius replied. “And, in addition, getting rid of those who seek to see it grow. The Imperium is willing to provide troops, funds, and relevant information in exchange for cooperation.”

“Herald?” Josephine turned to her, and all other eyes followed. “What do you think?”

The Herald of Andraste, a young and gangly qunari woman, looked upon the soldiers with uncertain eyes. She chewed on her lips for a moment, before answering. “I’d… like to hear what he has to say.”

“Very well, then. Please, let us proceed indoors,” Josephine said, gesturing with her hand at the stairs behind them.

“By all means. Thank you,” Taurius replied.

Wary glances and whispers followed them as they traveled together to the chantry, and the war room within. There, Taurius produced a letter from his belt, and set it on the map-covered table.

“My orders, and a pledge of cooperation from the Archon, should we find ourselves in agreement,” he said. “But, I suppose you’d all like some more detail before you go allying yourselves with the adversary, hm?” He chuckled, and something in his stance seemed to loosen.

“Please, tell us what you can,” Josephine said.

Taurius cleared his throat, and folded his hands behind his back. “I wouldn’t expect for your intelligence to know much about them at this point in time, but there currently exists a group that call themselves the Venatori,” he said. “They’re… politically inconvenient to the Imperium, let’s just say.”

“And that means?” Cullen said.

“Hardline traditionalists trying to bring back the old ways. Magisters summoning gods and all of Thedas under the Imperium’s boot.” Taurius shrugged, of all things, his tone quite casual. “Exactly the sort of thing we’re trying to distance ourselves from.”

“And what do these Venatori have to do with the Breach?” Josephine continued.

“Best we can gather is they want to use it for magic. Strengthening their forces,” Taurius replied. “We’ve got reports of them binding demons that come through the thing and siccing them on other people. These guys aren’t really fond of non-mages.”

“And we’re expected to believe the Imperium thinks otherwise?” Cullen said, his arms crossed.

Taurius shrugged again. “Well, I’m not a mage, but even I have rights,” he said. “Honestly, a lot of that mage stuff doesn’t make it out of the cities. Most of us in the Imperium are just regular folks like you and me.”

“As you say,” Cullen said.

“Captain Ferrus, is there any further intelligence you’re at liberty to discuss?” Leliana said.

“Well, the location of some Venatori encampments, groups they’re trying to recruit from,” Taurius replied. “That rebellion going on down here? Lots of impressionable apostates running around, looking for glory. I’d expect the Venatori’s already got them well-infiltrated.”

“You are referring to the group led by Grand Enchanter Fiona?” Leliana said.

Taurius nodded. “Can’t confirm anything, but we’ve been catching talk of a magister down in Redcliffe taking over leadership. Give me a few days, and I can probably get you a name.”

“Um… the… troops that the Imperium would pledge to us, uh…” The Herald was suddenly speaking, and she had her hand meekly raised for some reason. “How, uh… _much_ would it be? I don’t think having an army here would be… that good.”

“Ha, well! About that,” Taurius said, chuckling. “When I say ‘troops’ I just mean me and my men. The Imperium wants this dealt with discreetly, and my men are good at discrete.”

“How many are in your service?” Cullen said.

“I got ten under my direct command, plus some scouts and contacts.”

“And is that taking _slaves_ into account?” Cullen said.

Josephine groaned very lightly, though Taurius didn’t seem to notice or mind. Rather, he smiled. “No slaves. Free men, all of them,” he said. “And elves. We got a dwarf, too, but he’s not much for combat.”

There was a silence of crackling fire and discomfort.

“The Imperium you hear about is a much different place than the one I’m from,” Taurius continued. “To be honest, that’s the other reason me and my guys are down here. If we get people down south seeing us doing good, maybe we can undo some of the damage the Venatori are doing to the Imperium’s image.”

“Quite understandable!” Josephine said, with a sympathetic crack in her voice. “Well, this all taken into account… Herald, what is your decision?”

“Hey, you don’t need to make a decision right now,” Taurius said, his hands raised. “I more than understand the hesitation and don’t mind waiting while you deliberate.”

“He’s right, Herald,” Cullen said, though he had his eyes fixed on the captain. “We don’t need to ally ourselves so quickly.”

“...well, actually, I… would like to accept his offer,” the Herald said. Her raised hands had laced into each other, and her gaze was much averted.

“ _What?_ ” Cullen said.

Josephine raised her hand in a manner not unlike a schoolteacher, intending silence and reprimand. “I’m sure the Herald has her reasons,” she said, calmly.

“I mean… it’s only him, and ten men… not like the whole Tevinter army…” the Herald continued. “And we need all the help we can get, right now…”

“I’ll draft up an official response to the Archon confirming an agreement, then,” Josephine said, taking the letter off the map and setting it on her candle-slate. “In the meantime, Captain, do you and your men require lodging?”

“We’ll be fine on our own, ma’am,” Taurius replied.

“Very well. I look forward to this partnership,” Josephine said, with a smile like a charm on a bracelet.

“Indeed. I can get our scouts in contact with yours at your discretion,” Leliana added. “I’m quite curious about this magister in Redcliffe you speak of.”

“I’d be glad to, ma’am,” he replied.

Cullen still had his arms folded. “Just don’t give us reason to distrust you,” he managed.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Taurius. “In fact, I’d like to volunteer to serve alongside the Herald and provide assistance and protection where she travels - in addition to everything in the letter, of course.”

The Herald flushed, and scratched nervously at her scalp, where her horns met her forehead. “Ah, I appreciate it, but… I can - take care of myself, really…” she said.

“No such thing as too much help,” Taurius said. “Besides, it’ll allow you all to keep an eye on me. Don’t want the Imperium getting its claws too deep into your Herald, right?” He tilted his head towards Cullen in a way that suggested a wink underneath his eyepatch. Cullen just kept his own eyes away.

“Well, when you put it that way…” the Herald said, and she nodded. “All right, you can… accompany me, I suppose...”

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” Taurius replied. “With me around, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

\--

Taurius’s men set up a neat, sparse set of tents outside the walls of Haven, in the days following, and no small amount of gossip and questions followed.

They were avoided, at first, before the bold and impulsive began poking at them. Asking questions about the Imperium - almost exclusively on points of political contention - and their motives and aims. Taurius’s lieutenant fielded a great many questions, but Taurius himself was usually around to respond in a calm, friendly, even humorous manner - and always with a good-natured, “Hey, no offense taken,” at the inevitable conclusion.

The captain proved to be quite popular, in fact, once he’d been around long enough so as to feel familiar to the residents of the town. He could often be found in Flissa’s tavern in the evenings, where he gladly bought drinks for anyone that asked with a seemingly endless supply of gold. He had also managed to, somehow, win over the odd city elf, Sera. It was far from an instant friendship, sure, but he was apparently genuine enough for her trust. Well, that, and he had a fine appreciation for dirty jokes, it seemed.

Relatedly, he was _very_ popular with the various bar-girls and lay sisters, the latter of which were an endless source of humor for Sera.

(“Because, you know, _lay_ sisters, yeah?” she would explain. Every time.)

Word got around that he was an passionate, respectful, and remarkably available lover, if not the sort that one would carry on with long-term. One go with him was enough for most, and he never pressed the subject of staying or leaving.

In summary: Captain Ferrus proved to be a friendly, easily-approached figure, regardless of his nationality.

The Herald was still incredibly hesitant to approach him. Then again, she was hesitant to approach almost _anyone_ , something which Josephine was trying to help her with.

Even in the Valo Kas, she was more suited to hanging at the back of things, and was far more comfortable with the skills of a rogue than any of her own magical talent - which, in her opinion, was middling at best. She carried a stone on her belt to focus her excess mana, but always reached for a dagger when things got dicey.

(To be suddenly thrust into the center of some grand and holy work was mortifying, to say the least, but at least she wasn’t alone.)

Still, Josephine had given her something of an assignment, encouraging her to talk to her various companions, and at least get to know them a little. She’d already managed a few conversations with Varric, and Sera, and the Warden Blackwall; why she chose Taurius next was anyone’s guess, but she suspected it was something like jumping into water off a high wall. Once you were off, you were off.

She approached the camp one day with hunched shoulders and her hands clasped at her waist. “Er, Captain Ferrus…? Do you have a moment?”

Taurius, who had been sitting on a log, looked up and smiled. “Herald,” he said. “Of course I have a moment. What do you need?”

“Er… just… call me Kari, please, I’m still not used to all this Herald stuff…”

“Kari? That’s your given name, I presume?” She nodded. “All right, then, but only if you agree to call me Bull.”

Kari shuffled her feet. “Bull?”

“Nickname my boys gave me,” he replied. “It’s what my name means if you swap the Tevene for common Trade. I like that. I’m not the kind of guy that goes for fancy stuff; _none_ of my friends call me Taurius.”

“Ah… Captain Bull, then…”

Bull laugh-sighed, and sat up a little more. “Sure. What can I do for you?”

“I’d… like to know a little more about you, if you don’t mind.”

“Understandable,” Bull replied. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, your… work, uh… history… where you’ve been, I guess…” She was looking at her feet.

“Good place to start,” Bull said. “Well, I’m as common as you can get, for starters. Son of a farmer, who was the son of a farmer, and so on and so on. Found out I was pretty good in a fight as I grew up, so I joined the army. Did a few tours in Seheron, then I went home and started training the next generation of guys.”

Kari looked up in the middle of the sentence, suddenly quite alert. “Seheron?”

His face stilled, growing serious to match. “Ah. You heard of it?”

She nodded. “My Da. He was - the word in Qunlat is something _like_ ‘soldier,’ but he _wasn’t_ , really...” she said, making awkward, spider-gestures as she wrestled with her words. “I don’t know. But he was there.”

“Your dad, huh?” Bull said. She nodded. “I take it you’re all Tal-Vashoth, then.”

“Oh, well… I mean, I wouldn’t say _I_ am, I actually don’t know much about the Qun,” Kari said. “My parents left it and they didn’t talk about it much, so…”

At this, of all things, Bull smiled. “Sounds like they were pretty smart, then,” he said. “Seeing reason and getting out of that cult.”

“Yeah, I… I don’t know, I suppose…” She focused on a patch of snow to her left, feeling heat in her cheeks.

Bull sighed, and stood. He was a good head shorter than her, but still taller than most men she’d met. “Hey, I’ve got nothing against you,” he said. “Just those guys up north. People talk a lot about the Imperium having slaves, but at the end of the day, a slave’s only bound by contract. Those people up in the Qun don’t even have a choice.”

“Yeah, I… I guess, um.”

He put his hand on her shoulder, a gesture of reassurance, but she moved away from him with small, startled steps, like a spooked deer.

He, too, backed away. “Easy, easy,” he said. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s - it’s all right, I’m like this with everyone,” she said, trying to smile. Only one side of her face seemed to cooperate. “Some - Herald I am, huh...”

“Leadership - or, well, being a Big Important Person in general - that doesn’t come naturally to everyone,” Bull said. “You got some smart people behind you. They’ll make up the difference ‘til you get there.”

“I’ll, uh… try my best, I guess…” Kari said. In that moment, however, the other side of her mouth completed her smile.

\--

If Bull’s behavior and demeanor in Haven had gained the initial trust of the Herald and her followers, the intelligence he was able to provide secured it.

A magister by the name of Gereon Alexius had taken up residence in Redcliffe, the reins of the mage rebellion handed to him without question by the former Grand Enchanter Fiona. It was extraordinarily suspicious, all of it, especially when the magister’s Venatori ties were confirmed.

“Also means that the Venatori have definitely infiltrated the place,” Bull concluded, when called to a discussion at the war table over the information. “It’ll be a hard sell getting the mages’ support, now, if that’s what you were counting on.”

“Are you suggesting we focus on the templars at Therinfal Redoubt, then?” Cassandra, also present, said.

“That’s the more straightforward option,” Bull said. “But there are advantages to looking into the mage mess, too.”

“Please, elaborate,” Cassandra said.

“It’s a risk, but we could infiltrate the ranks and take out the Venatori there from within, in a more strategic strike,” he replied, gesturing to the table. “We’d need to be very careful, though, and we’ll probably have fewer allies to work with, in the aftermath. But, then again, we all know how powerful mages can be.”

“Whereas the situation in Therinfal Redoubt is a far simpler matter that we can settle with our existing connections and forces,” Cassandra said. “And a chance of more templars on our side.”

“Either way works,” Bull said. “You get those templars on your side? Venatori won’t know what hit ‘em. Most of them have never had to fight southern templars.”

“...let’s go to Therinfal Redoubt,” the Herald decided. “That’s... the more sure thing. Right…?” she added, stooping with caution.

“We’ll certainly do our best to make it so,” Cullen said, stiffly.

(Every time, _every time_ that Tevinter giant was present at a meeting, no matter how many times Cullen tried to keep from staring, their eyes always - _met_.)

(Cullen was not comfortable with whatever thoughts were behind that eye and its glances.)

As the advisors cleared out of the war room, Leliana approached Bull with a light touch to indicate her presence. “Captain Ferrus, a word?”

“Of course,” he replied, and followed her into a darker, quieter alcove of the chantry.

“I must express some admiration for your handling of that situation,” Leliana continued. “I couldn’t have done it better myself.”

“I’m not quite sure how you mean, Madam Nightingale,” Bull replied.

“Should the Inquisition investigate the mages, you’re rid of whatever Venatori had settled there, and whatever mages remain will have the true Imperium as support and guidance. Or, we have the templars, bane of the mages, supported by the Imperium in a gesture of temperance - and an effective weapon against the Venatori.” She looked up at him from beneath her hood with a cool smile. “Either way, the Imperium comes out as a winner.”

“You could certainly see it that way,” Bull replied, his own, subtle smile unchanged. “I couldn’t possibly comment.”

“Of course,” Leliana said. “Just making observations.”

“Of course,” Bull replied.

\--

The proceedings at Therinfal Redoubt resulted in three things: the extermination of an Envy demon that had taken the identity of Lord Seeker Lucius; a well-armed and organized corps of templars all too willing to serve the Inquisition; and, strangest of all, the Inquisitor’s new companion, Cole.

While the former two were more immediate and understood boons, Cole was an enigma that seemed only to stick around because the Herald insisted that he was a friend.

“He… _helped_ me,” she explained to her advisors, in the aftermath of it all. “That’s what he does, he… _helps_. Whatever he is, well… we - we don’t really know what my hand is, either, right…? But we know it helps.”

He wasn’t exactly, explicitly, _allowed_ to stay, given that he was oddly difficult to find at any given time, but his presence was acknowledged as benign all the same.

Kari was relieved, once this was clear. She felt a kinship with Cole - he couldn’t have been much older than her, sure, but there was also his behavior. His twitching, restless hands and eyes, and his difficulty with words, her own anxieties seemingly mirrored in him.

They would talk, in the evenings, in her cabin. Evenings were quiet, Cole explained, because sleep made pain harder to hear. “So more of - _me_ can come through,” he elaborated. “It’s hard to hear myself, otherwise.”

“Yeah, it’s… kind of hard to talk when there’s… lots of people around, yeah,” Kari agreed.

Cole wanted to help, she knew, because the hurt he could somehow hear compelled him. And, in their evenings together, this applied to her as well.

“The part of you that wants to speak - it trips in trying, tangles, torn with trusting,” he told her, one night. “And so you’re silent.”

“Yeah, I - I guess...”

“I’ll try to help,” Cole said, rocking gently in place from where he was sitting on the floor. “Though, words, they wither, wind-quick when I try to catch them. I’m not very good at making them fit.”

“I… think you speak just fine?” Kari said. “At least you… I don’t know… say what’s on your mind, I guess.”

“I wish that helped more,” Cole replied.

Still, he helped, where he could, because he could. She tried to do the same, tried to speak like the leader people seemed to think she was, and to at least silently act the part.

She supposed that she had managed, somewhere along the line, when they finally closed the Breach. She knew, in her heart, that this was the work of dozens of people believing in the cause her hand had bound her to, but the credit was given to her anyway.

She didn’t need to make an effort at smiling, in the following celebrations. She fantasized about the quiet that was surely to come, even with the Venatori still out there - that was more of Tevinter’s business, though, wasn’t it? They would settle themselves.

Corypheus and his Venatori forces vaporized the flimsy thoughts with dangerous reality.

Three very important things followed, as responses or results, which set the course more firmly than the acquisition of the templars ever did.

The mystery of the Herald’s hand began to unravel.

The Inquisition found a home in Skyhold.

And a Tal-Vashoth entered into the ranks of the Inquisition.

He had arrived at the gates of Haven at the very brink of the attack, a mortally-wounded chancellor in his arms, and his was the figure that many followed to safety out of the chantry. He managed to avoid drawing too much attention to himself, on the journey to Skyhold, but his presence was eventually noticed, and his name was learned.

He called himself Dorian.

 


	2. The Wizard And I

The Tal-Vashoth had seemingly taken up residence in Skyhold’s library, a place of little action and many little alcoves that one could slip into and settle at their liking. He had a table with a small collection of food, seemingly taken from the kitchens in the night, and slept sitting up in a corner. Otherwise, he read. Copiously.

Of course, an eight-foot-tall man with gold-tipped horn-stumps could only go unnoticed for so long. He was, eventually, approached by Leliana, who often passed him on her way down from her rookery.

“You’re the qunari from Haven, aren’t you?” she asked him, lightly, standing with her hands behind her back.

The qunari looked up twice, as if to confirm that, yes, someone _was_ speaking to him. When he spoke, Leliana was surprised to hear, of all things, a polished Fereldan accent. “Am I? I imagine there was at least one other qunari running about, there.”

“I know of only one that tried to save Chancellor Roderick,” Leliana said.

The qunari’s expression grew thoughtful. “Was that his name?” he said. “He never told me.”

“It was. I’m surprised you’re not receiving more recognition,” Leliana said.

“I’m not _looking_ for it,” the qunari replied.

“Really? It’s highly likely that you saved us all, with your actions,” Leliana said. “At the very least, you should be properly thanked.”

“What, me? I’m just happy to have a roof over my head, thank you,” the qunari replied, and he settled a little deeper into his armchair.

“Truly?” Leliana said.

The qunari gave her a very direct look, there. He had eyes the color of polished jade, and they were wearied. “My kind isn’t always a welcome presence,” he said. “It’s refreshing to at least be benignly _ignored._ ”

(Leliana could see, hidden under a carefully-maintained mustache, faded puncture scars around his lips.)

“You… _are_ aware that the Inquisitor is, herself, a qunari?” Leliana said.

“...yes, I think I heard _something_ to that effect, somewhere,” he replied, tilting his head. “Not every day you hear about Andraste’s _qunari_ champions, after all.”

Leliana paused just long enough for him to notice. “I’ll be bringing up the subject of recompense for your actions to the Inquisitor,” she said.

“Oh, _really_ , you don’t need to.”

“I expect she’ll want to, regardless of your thoughts,” Leliana replied.

And, as predicted, Kari wanted very much to at least _meet_ the Tal-Vashoth, though unrelated to his actions. He was the only other qunari in the area, it seemed to be, and - frankly - she was craving familiarity.

(And - unknown to her - so was Dorian.)

“Um, excuse me…!” Kari approached him in the library, one day, a hand meekly raised to knock on the nearby bookshelf.

He only had to glance at her once for a smile to break over his face. “The Herald of Andraste herself!” he said.

Kari’s face burned. “Um… really, you don’t... have to call me that…”

“Ah - do pardon me, er, Inquisitor?” he said, stooping in his chair with embarrassment.

“Sure, I - yeah, that works…”

His face smoothed, and his smile grew sympathetic. “What do you _like_ people to call you?” he said.

“Uh… Kari’s fine.”

“Kari. A fine name.” He stood - and for the first time in a long while, Kari found herself looking eye-to-eye with someone. “You may call me Dorian.”

“That’s… I’ve never heard of a qunari named, uh, Dorian…” Kari said, smiling shyly. She focused on the mole on his cheek, rather than his eyes.

“Well, of course not. I chose it myself,” Dorian said. “Why, didn’t you choose yours?”

“No, my… uh, folks did…” Kari replied. “They actually named me Imekari, but that’s… uh…”

“Your… ‘folks,’ is it?” Dorian’s face seemed to fall a little. “You’re not Tal-Vashoth, are you?” he said - a statement, and not a question.

“No, I’m… no, not really...” Kari said. “My Ma and my Da left the Qun. I was born after that…”

“Ah. Well, I was hoping I’d be able to commiserate with someone, but I suppose that’s for the best,” Dorian said.

“Ah… I’m - I’m sorry, then,” Kari said.

“Oh, no! No, no, no, don’t apologize, now,” Dorian said, raising his hands defensively. “I’m sure we have things in common besides where we came from, yes? I hear you’re a mage, for example!”

“Not… really,” Kari said. Her eyes slipped from Dorian’s mole to the floor. “Like, technically, because I can… dream, and I can do a few spells, I guess, but…”

“Ah.” Dorian’s smile was either pitying or embarrassed, though likely both. “I suppose I should avoid being three-for-three and let you know now that I’m not looking for female companionship.”

“...sorry?”

“Companionship. Of the - intimate kind, I suppose I should specify?” Dorian continued. “I would very much like to be a friend of yours, of course, but you should probably seek elsewhere if you’re looking for a mate.”

“I wasn’t - I - okay…” Kari’s shoulders hunched; one could easily imagine a tail tucked between her legs.

“Oh, dear. This isn’t going well, is it?” Dorian said, propping his hand on his cheek. “Might we start over?”

“Yeah… sure…”

“Very well, then. I’m Dorian. Tal-Vashoth, apostate, and general good-for-nothing,” he said, cheerfully. “And, you are?”

“Um… Kari. The Inquisitor, I guess.”

“Lovely to meet you, Kari.”

“Yeah, same…” Her eyes were still stuck to the floor.

Dorian did not let the silence last. “So - tell me, what is it _like,_ being the Inquisitor?” he said.

“Really… confusing, mostly,” Kari said.

“I imagine the Chantry’s all a-fuss, with a qunari as Andraste’s chosen.”

“Well, they keep _calling_ me that, but…” She shrugged. “I dunno.”

“You… doubt your title, or…?”

“I honestly don’t - know much about the Chant or anything,” Kari said. “But qunari aren’t really _in_ it, as far as I can tell, so… Why would someone as important as - Andraste choose one for… whatever it is she wants?”

“Well, I certainly don’t claim to know the motives of gods and prophets and things,” Dorian said, “but, in my life, I’ve noticed a curious trend.”

“What’s that?” Kari said. Her gaze wandered back to his mole, and she noticed he was smiling, gently.

“Everything happens for a reason. People don’t just do things without at least a _feeling_ behind them,” he said. “True, that’s supposing that Andraste even _exists_ , but… well, that’s besides the point.”

“I guess…”

“The point is,” Dorian continued, “perhaps in that great mysterious somewhere that decides everything, someone decided to give a qunari a shot at making a difference. That’s a lovely thought, isn’t it?”

Kari could feel herself smiling. “Well, that’s… assuming I end up making a difference.”

“Are you kidding? Look at what you have, here!” Dorian said, making a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Hundreds of people at your back, and a _castle_ , of all things - and the library here is simply _fantastic_ , I must tell you.”

“Ha, well… not much of that was my doing…”

“Lies and nonsense,” Dorian said, firmly. “Well, except maybe the castle bit. But, regardless!”

Kari laughed. “Yeah, that was definitely not me…”

“Just think of it this way,” Dorian said. “Right now, the whole world knows that a _qunari_ \- and not of the Qun, just a woman in her own right - is out there, making things better. That should certainly improve things for people like us, in the long run. A much-needed image-adjustment, that’s what you are.”

“You sound like Captain Ferrus,” Kari said. “And Josephine.”

“Friends of yours, I assume?”

“I - yeah, I guess they’re my friends…” Kari’s smile was small, but very strong.

“I would very much like to meet them, sometime,” Dorian said. “Your permission granted, of course.”

“Oh…! Yeah, sure, uh…” Kari tapped her fingers together. “I mean, I could call together a meeting and introduce you.”

“No need for such formalities! I’d rather you and I get to know each other, first,” Dorian said. “It would be rather strange to introduce someone you don’t even know, wouldn’t it?”

“Ah… yeah, sorry…”

“It’s all right,” Dorian said, and he lapsed into a small wave of almost relieved laughter. “You already consider me your friend, though?”

“I mean… we just met, but…” Another shy smile. “It’s just been a long time since I’ve met someone like - _me_ , I guess…”

(Though she was finding echoes of herself in other parts of the Inquisition, echoes that still surprised her.)

“The feeling is absolutely mutual,” Dorian said. “We ought to stick together on principle alone, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah…!” Kari’s eyes met with his, for a moment, before sliding back to the floor. “Us - well, not against the world, I guess, but, uh… we’re here anyway!”

(The eye contact lasted for half a second, but it was followed by an electric, lasting feeling of hope.)

(A hope that, maybe, despite all the differences, they’d found someone to relate with.)

\--

There is no such thing as an instant friendship, but Kari and Dorian were certainly close to it.

When she needed respite at Skyhold, and she didn’t have the excuse of evening to retreat to her room, Kari could usually find Dorian in the library. She wasn’t much of a reader, but she found it very entertaining to listen to him go on about things with his usual, high level of enthusiasm.

“I’ve never had access to so many books on magic in my _life_ ,” Dorian told her, from his favorite chair, with stars practically in his eyes. “It’s amazing!”

“Where did you - learn your magic before?” Kari asked him. She stood across from him, hands held behind her back, rocking on the balls of her feet.

“Oh, well, nowhere special,” Dorian said, waving his hand. “I’m more curious about where _you_ learned.”

“Me? Well, uh… in the Valo Kas - that’s, uh, the group I used to work for - we had a former Saarebas that, uh…” Her voice trailed off as something occurred to her. “You… um. When you were in the Qun, was that what you…?”

Dorian was wearing a half-felt smirk. “When I was still there, yes,” he said.

(Kari was trying not to look at his mouth. Trying not to see if she could tell where his lips had been sewn together.)

“So a Saarebas gave you your education, then?” he continued, his voice a bit higher than necessary. “Must have been just basics, then. I personally learned a _fine_ foundation of magic, but I found it… _inadequate._ Part of the reason I left the Qun, really.”

(This was true. It was only part of the reason.)

“Ah…”

“And now I’ve gone and made you uncomfortable,” Dorian said, and sighed. “Please, don’t worry about me. I managed to get away from all that, and I’m quite well, now. That’s all that matters.”

“If you say so…” Her hands had moved to her front, now, and her fingers were tangling in each other.

(She felt a sudden, strange shame for her place in the world, born away from the laws and duties of the Qun.)

(Even with the weakness of her own magic, that very well could have been her life as well.)

“Here, why don’t I read you this bit about veilfire?” Dorian said. “Always wondered how that worked.”

“Sure…” Kari said, nodding, though the discomfort did not leave her for a good long while.

It wasn’t long before she was asking Dorian to come with her on Inquisitorial operations. He was resistant, at first. “I’m not quite sure if I’d _belong_ in your company,” he explained. “Qunari apostate and all.”

“Well… they’re okay with me,” Kari replied, her brow furrowed, “so there’s… no reason they wouldn’t be okay with you…”

“...a fair point,” Dorian said. He crossed his arms. “Well, if you absolutely _insist_ on pulling me away from my books…”

“Yeah,” Kari said. “I want to introduce you.”

And, indeed, she did. The group of her confidantes, fast becoming known as her “Inner Circle,” collected in the War Room for a discussion on operations before they moved out the following day. An investigation into the Exalted Plains was planned, with aid promised to the struggling forces of the Orlesian Empire.

Kari asked - via Josephine, anyway - that they assemble in advance of her arrival, so that everyone would be present in order to meet Dorian. She went to get him from the library, when the time arrived, but they lingered outside the door to the War Room once they reached it.

“Hey, it’s… gonna be okay,” she told him, her hand hovering near his shoulder. “They’ll all really - like you, I’m sure…!”

“I _can_ be rather charming, it’s true,” Dorian conceded, with a sigh. “Shall we?”

Kari nodded, and opened the door.

The Inner Circle and Kari’s advisors were assembled around the table in various states of impatience, boredom, or disconnection. As the door opened, all eyes - save Cole’s, and only barely - turned to attention.

“Uh… hi, sorry, I’m late…” Kari said, waving timidly. “Um. I wanted to introduce someone to you all…! Which is why I - uh - called you all here…”

“Yes,” Josephine continued, when Kari didn’t. “An addition to our traveling numbers, who will be joining us for our forthcoming work in Orlais.”

“Yeah! This is… Dorian!” Kari blurted, gesturing. “Dorian, this is… everyone. Um.”

“A qunari named Dorian, huh?” Varric said, immediately enough to break the tension. “That’s a first for me.”

“I like to think it leaves an impression,” Dorian said. “And you are?”

“Varric Tethras. Nice to meet you, Dorian.”

“And that’s, um, Solas, and that’s Warden Blackwall, and that’s…” Kari began, a little hastily, before trailing off. “Oh, sorry, I should probably… let everyone introduce themselves…”

“It’s quite all right, Inquisitor,” Solas said. “It’s perfectly natural to be nervous when introducing a loved one to others.”

“Uh… loved one…?” Kari said. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes wandered. “Uh. No, Dorian isn’t… um…”

“My friendship with the Inquisitor is entirely chaste, I assure you,” Dorian said, interrupting with perfect time. “Besides, she’d have to be a bit more masculine to pull my interest.”

“...ah.” Solas’s expression stiffened, and he nodded. “Forgive me for assuming.”

“Quite forgiven,” Dorian replied. “Ah, and, if I’m not mistaken? You are our friend from Tevinter, yes?”

He was gesturing towards Bull. Bull had his arms crossed, and a neutral expression on his face. “What gave it away?” he said.

“Either the armor or the look of disgust on your face,” Dorian replied. “Don’t worry, I probably have about as much love for the Qun a _you_ do. Ah, and I’m a mage, besides! You Tevinter-types are quite fond of those, if I recall correctly?”

Bull didn’t say anything in reply.

“I suppose I shouldn’t expect much for conversation from you,” Dorian said. “Your name is… _Bull_ or something to that effect, though, isn’t it?”

“I’ll let you call me Taurius or Captain Ferrus,” Bull said, his tone unchanged. “ _Not_ Bull.”

(A refrain of a memory flashed, hot and humiliating, in Kari’s mind: “ _None_ of my friends call me Taurius.”)

“ _Yes_ , Captain,” Dorian said, his already-posh words gaining an extra degree of polish as he nodded. “As you _wish_ , Captain.”

“Watch yourself, pretty-boy,” Bull said, lowly.

“Ah, you think I’m pretty, do you?” Dorian said, sounding genuinely happy. “Why, thank you.”

“Um… maybe we should finish introductions and… get to the meeting… maybe…” Kari had returned to looking at her feet, stroking the mark on her left hand anxiously. “Sorry…”

“I’m rather in agreement, my dear,” Vivienne, looking typically unimpressed, said. “Shall we?”

“ _...just a matter of time until it’s decided I’m not a fit here, it seems. And here I was hoping that I had a place. Then again, even the Qun didn’t have a place for me, so why should I expect any different from an Inquisition?_ ”

Out of nowhere, Cole was speaking. He had his head lowered, and an odd, formal cadence to his voice.

“Don’t worry. If you can help, you can stay,” he continued, his half-hurried, usual voice returning. His eyes were restless. “We’re all here to help. You can, too.”

“Er… thank you for the reassurance,” Dorian said, trying to muster a tone of confidence. “Sorry, everyone, I was unaware that we had a… mind-reader in our midst?”

“That’s just Cole,” Varric said. “You’ll get used to him.”

“Hello…!” Cole said, brightly.

A short, but heavy, silence followed.

“Well, then! Shall we get to business?” Josephine said.

“Yes. Please,” Cassandra said, flatly.

“Yeah, sounds good…” Kari said. She struggled with the urge to apologize for the rest of the meeting.

\--

The War Room emptied perhaps an hour later, and the rest of the day filled with a procession of odd little happenings.

Rather than staying close to Kari, Dorian was pulled to the Herald’s Rest by Sera and Varric, who insisted on giving him as informal a welcome as they could manage. He waved with a happily helpless expression on his face at Kari as they left, who found herself smiling and waving back.

(Bull followed them, and he sat in his usual corner, uncharacteristically sipping quite slowly at his mug of ale. His eye was narrowed and fixed on the qunari for a good long while.)

Vivienne caught Dorian on his way back to the library, that evening, leaving him with a short, but warmly-worded suggestion that she might improve his wardrobe. “It’s painfully obvious that you’ve been _scavenging_ , my dear,” she told him. “I know a marvelous tailor that’s already provided much for the Lady Inquisitor’s wardrobe. I imagine she could do much of the same for you - and you’re _far_ more in need of it than her, in my opinion.”

Dorian looked down at his clothes - loose trousers crafted from a cotton sack, a silk sheet fashioned into a cloak, a mismatched assortment of gold bangles and chains - and chuckled lightly. “I must admit, I’ve been rather without the _means_ to improve my image, lately,” he replied. “I’d be delighted.”

Solas even offered a friendly “Good evening,” as he passed toward the stairs to the library.

Dorian settled into the evening with a book on the arts of the knight-enchanter, and the distinct feeling that perhaps he was more welcome at Skyhold than first perceived.

Kari’s mood was best defined as “vaguely miserable” for the rest of the day, even with Josephine’s reassurances that she did perfectly well at the War Table meeting. It wasn’t until nightfall and the solitude it allowed her that things improved.

“He’s like you, in a way,” Cole said, from the scaffolding above her bed - appearing unannounced, as he was wont to do.

Kari was used to it, by then - in fact, she’d almost been waiting, wanting to see him. “Who?” she said, looking back at him from her desk.

“Dorian. He keeps so many words in his head but never lets them out,” Cole said. “I had to let the loudest ones out, for him. It helped.”

“Did it?” Kari said.

“I think so,” Cole said. “The room was raw and watchful when he entered, sore of sight, suspicious - but not when he left. When people know there’s pain, they want to help.”

“Yeah,” Kari said. “That’s - it sometimes works like that…”

“Yes,” Cole replied.

(There was a web of comfort all throughout Skyhold, friend-to-friend, pain-to-pain, and he saw Dorian now nestled comfortably within it, no longer linked by one, two threads alone.)

(Though he observed, with sad wonder, the connection between Dorian and Captain Ferrus, which trembled with distrust and hatreds held from another time.)

(It felt as if it should and shouldn’t be, and all Cole could do was wait, and watch, until he understood.)

 


	3. Anything You Can Do

 “Watch where you’re pointing those horns, pretty-boy!”

“I don’t _have_ any horns.”

“Well, you end up cracking someone’s skull with _whatever_ it is you have on your head, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Only a few days after their first meeting, Bull’s silent observation of Dorian had turned to verbal provocation.

These little barbs usually came about whilst traveling, or in the calm after a battle. This was fairly typical, for the Inquisition. The former reason needed a way to pass the time, and the latter was a means of breaking anxiety and tension from the adrenaline of battle.

Everyone engaged in it. Solas would prod at Sera from time to time, always with a veneer of concern for her disconnection from her elvish nature - which Sera did not terribly appreciate. Vivienne gently goaded Varric into talking about his writing, ostensibly to learn his plots before his readers did. And Cole, well… was Cole.

“Captain Ferrus, a woman in the last town wanted you to pick her up and take her clothes off,” he announced, one day, quite out of nowhere.

Bull let out a good-natured chuckle. “I get that a lot,” he said.

“Certainly can’t blame her,” Dorian added, which prompted an annoyed glance from Bull in return.

To be fair, Dorian was responsible for more than half of the confrontations, though his words came from a place closer to curiosity than enmity.

“I do hope it doesn’t bother you _too_ much to serve alongside a savage oxman, Captain Ferrus,” he said, while the party traveled through the Emerald Graves one day.

“Just don’t go berserk on me, and we’re fine,” Bull replied, curtly.

“Would you like me bound and leashed, then?” Dorian continued. “That seems to work for most people, as far as safety measures go.”

Bull sent Dorian a withering look. “Just because the Qun treats its mages like animals doesn’t mean _I_ will,” he said.

“How magnanimous of you!” Dorian said.

“It’s basic human decency,” Bull replied.

“Even though I’m not human?”

“That has nothing to do with it,” Bull said. “Even people like you deserve to be seen as _people_.”

Dorian said nothing, in return, but he had a thoughtful, maybe even _impressed_ look on his face, following.

(Sera, nearby, smirked at hearing all of this, feeling strangely satisfied with her judgment and trust of the Captain.)

“Quite remarkable,” Dorian said, on another day, in the Western Approach, “that we have agents of the Imperial army in our midst, and nobody seems to mind.”

“Yes. Agents of the Imperial army. That are fighting... other Tevinters. For the sake of Tevinter,” Bull said.

“...ah! Fair point,” Dorian said. “How _do_ you feel about that?” he continued.

“Feel about _what?_ ”

“Fighting your own countrymen.”

Bull sighed. “I don’t really consider them my countrymen. They’re a disgrace to the Imperium.”

“Just confirming, but we’re talking about the Venatori, here, yes?”

“Yeah,” Bull said. “They’re setting us back hundreds of years with the crap they’re pulling.”

“Really?” Dorian said. “So the bits about slavery and mage supremacy don’t apply to the Imperium at large, any more?”

Bull sighed, deeply. “You know, not everyone in the Imperium supports that kind of stuff.”

“You’re referring to yourself, I imagine?”

“Yeah,” Bull said, pointedly. “I am.”

“A comfort to know, then,” Dorian concluded.

Even later, around the camp’s fire that night, Bull continued the half-remembered thread. “So, I take it you have no interest in converting us all to the Qun,” he said, following a mouthful of stew.

“I’m sorry, are you talking to me?” Dorian said.

Bull replied with a contemptuous silence.

“Well, to answer your question,” Dorian continued, “I’ll ask _you_ a question: do you honestly think I’d be interested in promoting a system that I quite-willingly left?”

“You never know,” Bull said, stirring his stew and avoiding eye contact. “I’ve heard stories about your kind, pretending they were Tal-Vashoth, and converting people on the sly. Talking about how good it was under the Qun, bringing them back when they get too ‘homesick’.”

“I assure you, my dear Captain, I wouldn’t want a single _one_ of you to live under the Qun,” Dorian said. “Oh, it might feel nice for the average person, having a _role_ and everything, but show one bit of deviation and, well…”

“ _He leads me to a dark room, he removes my mask, I see the poison-glow, the qamek in his hand. There are no Tamassrans here, no Rasaan, no one but him. He tells me this is for my own good. I try to scream, I feel my lips pull with pain and iron blood, stitches ripping flesh.”_

The silence that followed Cole’s rushed and panicked words was a cold one.

“...yes, well, that’s one way of putting it,” Dorian said, though his voice had gone very, very quiet.

(A horrifying hurt was now known, but nobody knew how to help.)

“I personally find it deplorable,” Solas said, sounding, by all accounts, unaffected by Cole’s outburst. “Any system that seeks to suppress the mind is, by definition, tyrannical.”

“Y’know, it’s real freaky-like when I find myself agreeing with you,” Sera said.

“It should come as no surprise to you, truthfully,” Solas replied. “For so many years, elves have lived under bondage. It is only natural that you would resent the possibility.”

“Shut it,” Sera said.

“You’re all right, here, Sparkles,” Varric said, patting the qunari’s arm from his seat beside him. “We got your back.”

Dorian managed a light smile, but was quiet for the rest of the evening.

(And, as it happened, so was Bull.)

Kari sat at Dorian’s other side - with Cole to her left - and the whole exchange filled her with far too much uneasiness. She had to clarify certain things, before the night was up, and she did.

“Hey… Dorian, are - you okay?” she said, softly, when everyone was heading for their tents.

“Of course I am, _kadan_ ,” Dorian replied, as warmly as he could manage, but there was still tension in his face.

“You sure…?” Kari said. “I mean, what Cole said…”

“That was just a particularly _bad_ memory for young Cole to dredge up,” Dorian said. “I’ll be fine by morning.”

Kari bit her lip, her ears drooping as she looked up at him, but she nodded anyway. “Just - let me know if you… need anything, okay?”

“Of course I will,” Dorian said. “Goodnight, Kari.”

Dorian did not sleep well. In the rare moments where he managed to drift off, his dreams, the offerings of the Fade, would menace him with unwillingly-remembered shapes and scents.

The acid-smell of the qamek - the raw-meat-tenderness of his lips as his stitches tore into them - his Arvaarad, enormous and masked and no longer a source of comfort.

He would wake in a cold sweat, gasping for breath, mumbling frantically in Qunlat. Foolishly, he would try to sleep again, expecting a different result.

Eventually, he accepted his defeat, and left his tent to watch the stars, or the sunrise, whichever was available at the time.

The brassy glow of the pre-dawn was present - and so was Captain Ferrus.

Well, it was still preferable to nightmares. “Good morning, Captain!” Dorian said, with a chipper tone. “You’re certainly up early.”

Bull looked back at him from the bench where he was sitting. He had stubble on his lean face, thick and ink-black, and he was already wearing his eyepatch. “Force of habit,” he said. “What’s your excuse?”

“Didn’t need much sleep,” Dorian said. “Thought it’d be nice to watch the sunrise.”

“Heh. Had much of the same thought,” Bull said. Unless Dorian was mistaken, he was smiling a little.

“Shall I find somewhere else to sit, then?”

“Nah, the view’s better here. I don’t mind,” Bull said, gesturing to the bench.

Dorian’s eyebrows rose. “Truly?”

Bull sighed. “Are you going to sit with me or not?”

“I suppose I will!” Dorian, indeed, took a seat on the bench, though he kept himself cautiously distant, balancing himself on the very edge of the bench. “Very generous of you, Captain.”

“It’s just a seat,” Bull said.

“A seat shared with the enemy, my dear Captain,” Dorian said, his voice playfully dramatic.

Bull sighed, again. “You aren’t my enemy.”

“I’m not?” For a moment, Dorian’s veneer of nonchalance cracked, but only for a moment.

“Well, you’re Tal-Vashoth, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes.”

“So you’re no longer part of the Qun, therefore, you’re no longer an enemy of the Imperium.” Bull adjusted himself where he sat, keeping his arms crossed. “It’s that simple.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Dorian said. He crossed one leg over the other, delicately.

The sun continued to rise.

For the third time, Bull sighed. “All right, fine, so there’s more to it than that,” he said.

“Hm?” Dorian chanced a look at the soldier, his brows risen again.

“What… happened last night. What that weird kid said. It got me thinking,” Bull said, keeping his eye on the horizon. “You were - what’s the damn word - Sar-bas? Back in the Qun.”

“Saarebas,” Dorian said, simply, without emotion. “Yes.”

“Right. And those guys - from what I understand - they’re practically kept under lock and key, right?” Bull said. “But you managed to get away.”

“Through no small amount of effort, I assure you,” Dorian said. There was a nervous crackle in his voice.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Bull said, nodding. “You must have really wanted your freedom, huh.”

“...yes, you could phrase it that way,” Dorian said.

Bull turned to look at him, and, yes, he really was smiling a little. “That’s really damn brave, you know.”

Dorian’s laughter was a reflex, a defense mechanism. “Surely, you’re joking.”

“No, I’m not,” Bull said, looking suddenly very serious.

“Really?” Dorian rolled his eyes. “It’s brave to want to leave a culture that actively despises you?”

“It’s brave to actually _leave_ it,” Bull said. “Anyone can _want_ , but you _made_ it. That’s not nothing.”

(So many nights, nursing wounds in the hold of a stranger’s ship. The days of fever and stumbling confusion, where everything was far too bright and everyone was far too small, and Trade was still a terrifying haze of a language.)

(Memories heard, but held, because they would not help, not here.)

“I take it this means you feel sorry for me, now,” Dorian said, smirking.

“It means I respect you, now.”

Dorian blinked. “Beg pardon?”

“I respect you - same as I respect a slave that manages to buy back their freedom, or gets their ass out of there some other way. This doesn’t mean we’re friends,” Bull continued, firmly, “but I get where you’re coming from.”

Dorian exhaled, almost laughing, honestly lost for words. “You certainly are a surprising fellow, Captain Ferrus,” he settled on.

“Ugh, _don’t_ call me Captain any more, all right?” Bull said, forcing annoyance into his voice. “Only my subordinates call me Captain.”

“What _shall_ I call you, then?” Dorian said.

“Just… Bull. All right?”

“Truly? I’m allowed to, now?” Dorian said, his voice growing lighter by the syllable.

“Don’t think too much of it,” Bull replied.

“It means ‘friendship,’ and that you’re both soldiers. It didn’t fit, before, but it does, now.”

Bull and Dorian turned in quick, startled unison, to see a scarecrow-silhouette standing behind them.

“Cole?” Dorian said. “How… long have you been standing there?”

“I was only watching,” Cole replied, simply. He had his fingers tangled in a wringing grasp. “Seeing if I could help. I didn’t need to.”

Bull pressed his lips together, and exhaled through his nose. “Go back to sleep, kid, we’re fine.”

“I don’t sleep,” Cole said, his eyes fish-wide and unblinking.

“Well, I certainly do! And I believe I shall try and get a little more of it before everyone else is awake,” Dorian said, and he stood, stretching. “Do you wish to join me, Captain?”

“Join-?” Bull began, with a bit too much volume, before catching himself. “You mean heading back to my own tent.”

“What else could I have meant?” Dorian said, a confused, pitying crease to his eyebrows.

“Nothing,” Bull replied, and he stood as well. “And I _told_ you, don’t call me Captain any more.”

Dorian sighed, smiled, waved back at him. “As you say, Bull. I’ll see you later.”

Dorian ducked into his tent, and left Bull alone with Cole.

“ _Kadan_. He thinks that, when he sees you, now.”

Bull rubbed his eye. He hadn’t planned on waking this early, and his vision was framed with heat. “Is that right,” he said.

“Yes.”

“And what does _kadan_ mean?”

“No, no, this is… _wrong_ ,” Cole said, and his shoulders, his face tensed with frustration. “You should be the one calling him that.”

“Huh?”

“Tied in time, another tapestry, but torn. I feel the threads, but…” Cole looked up, his expression now quite placid. “Ah. It’s gone.”

Bull squinted, and rubbed his eye again. “So you don’t know what _Kadan_ means.”

“Feelings formed of fondness, warmth and welcome. One who will protect, and be protected.”

“That’s a lot of words for just one word,” Bull said, propping a hand on his waist.

(He could feel himself smiling - why was he smiling?)

“It’s a cake,” Cole said.

“...what?”

“There’s so much inside of a cake that you can’t see, or taste, but it’s there. And it’s all different, but it’s all cake. An egg is not a cake, but it’s still _in_ a cake, and it would not be a cake without the egg.”

Bull sighed, and stretched a little. “I’m going back to bed, kid.”

“Ah. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help.”

“Didn’t need to,” Bull said, and he proceeded to his tent with a loping, limping gait, in the absence of his leg brace. “Don’t worry about it.”

Cole was the only one left awake. He felt pain - barely-soothed, disappointing - fading back into sleep.

He sat on the bench and looked out at the horizon. In the silence, he could hear so much more. He could hear himself, and other things as well.

 _Kadan_.

He spun the thread around in thinking, never quite determining how a word could fit and not fit, simultaneously. It made him hurt when he thought too long on it, heat in his head, his nose.

A fire could not be hot and cold at once. Water could not be wet and dry together.

Yet, this was, and wasn’t.

(This word, and so many other things.)

The word and its aching paradox stayed with him until his companions began to wake, and their songs of aches and worries drowned it out.

\--

Despite Bull’s words, a friendship formed.

Nothing outwardly changed, at first. They continued provoking each other, much as they had before, but there was a playfulness to it, now, as if they were both in on some shared joke.

“Why is it always so _cold?_ I swear, I’ll never get used to it,” Dorian complained, when they were in the Emprise du Lion. He had, rather unwisely, neglected to bring along much clothing, believing an everknit wool cloak would suffice.

“Might help if you put on a proper shirt,” Bull suggested.

Dorian rubbed his arms to warm them, and laughed as a suggestion came upon him. “And spare you all my magnificent physique? I’ll manage.”

He made Bull laugh.

Bull’s manner, in general, had loosened; he’d discarded the stiff vigilance he’d worn since Dorian’s arrival. And, even before then, his manner had been professional, courteous, distant, except in environments of obvious relaxation - i.e. the Herald’s Rest. Now, he was making puns.

(Krem assured Kari, privately, that he’d always been like this. He just trusted the company enough, now, to know his “humor” would be “appreciated.”)

(“The more you groan, the more he likes it,” Krem advised. “Trust me. Don’t encourage him.”)

The subjects of these verbal stink-bombs were usually inanimate. The odd statue here, an apparently suggestive waterfall there; he had Sera laughing about “titsicles” on a figure of Andraste for weeks.

Still, every now and then, a member of the Inquisition would find themselves a target. The usual response was a groan, or a sigh. Dorian, however, made marvelous sport out of it all.

“You’re pretty good with that staff, Dorian,” Bull said one day, a quiet glee in his voice telegraphing the wind-up. “You spend much time polishing it?”

“Ha! No, I much prefer waving it about for everyone to see,” Dorian replied.

Bull snorted. “Apparently so.”

These were the conversations that everyone saw, heard, found strange relief in. Sure, the qunari wasn’t a part of the Qun, and the Tevinter was only a soporatus, a farmer’s son, but they’d managed to find common ground. The Inquisition just seemed to be full of implausibilities and odd harmonies; their friendship was only one of many indicators of camaraderie, and strength.

Then, there were the private conversations. The quiet talks, sewing trust into their budding friendship.

“Say, you have any idea what Cole’s deal is?” Bull asked Dorian, some days later, over a mug of ale in a the Herald’s Rest. “Like, is he like the Inquisitor? Got some magic in him, but can’t do much with it?”

“Solas informed me that he is, in fact, a spirit,” Dorian replied.

“No shit,” Bull said. “Seriously?”

“Apparently so,” Dorian replied. “Something like Compassion, I think.”

“So he possessed someone?”

“No, no. From what I understand, he’s rather like a Shade, but he ended up… looking like he does when he came through the Veil,” Dorian said, gesturing with a hand. “Mind, I don’t understand his circumstances terribly well, but.”

“Huh.” Bull swirled his ale around in his mug, and shrugged. “Well, all right.”

“Why do you ask?” Dorian continued.

“Dunno, I’ve just been thinking about something he said.”

“What did he say?”

It had been some weeks, but the word had wormed its way into Bull’s head, and it hadn’t left. “Well, you know how he does that… _thing_ , where he tells people what they’re thinking?”

“How could I not?”

“Well, he told me that - sure, yeah, you call me Bull, but this word _kadan_ comes up whenever you see me,” Bull said. “He didn’t seem to know what it meant - mentioned something about _cake_ , but anyways. What’s it mean?”

“Well, that _is_ a bit of a question,” Dorian said, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on his hands. “It’s sort of a catch-all for people you’re fond of, I suppose.”

“That so?”

“Yes. Not much of a _translation_ of it, but, well - it might stand for ‘comrade,’ or ‘friend,’ or ‘loved one’,” Dorian said. “I call Kari _kadan_ because she is my friend, you see. I suppose you qualify, as well, even if I’ve never actually said it aloud.”

Bull smiled as he took another gulp of ale. “That’s kind of nice, actually. Knowing it’s not an insult, anyways.”

“My dear Captain, I would _never_ insult you with means you could not understand,” Dorian said.

Bull paused in his drinking, looking over his mug. “Uh-huh.”

“Solemn promise,” Dorian said, his chin lifted almost imperiously.

Bull finished his ale, and let out a satisfied gasp as he put his mug down. “Just out of curiosity, but how _do_ you say ‘cake’ in Qun-speak?”

“Cake in Qunlat?” Dorian said. “ _Noms_ , I believe.”

“ _Noms?_ ”

“Last I checked.”

“And I thought _Tevene_ was ridiculous,” Bull said. “Like, who makes a language where ‘bad’ and ‘apple’ are pronounced the same?”

“Somebody that really does not like apples, apparently,” Dorian replied.

They lapsed into easy, ale-smoothed laughter, over that, and remained in the tavern for perhaps another hour before each retiring to bed.

“Good night, Bull,” Dorian said, in leaving.

“Night, _kadan,_ ” Bull replied.

(There was a wave of deja vu, between them, an almost indiscernible ripple.)

Dorian let out a surprised laugh. “Is that what you’re going to call me, now?”

“Just felt like the right thing to say,” Bull said, shrugging. “Don’t count on me using it again, though.”

Dorian sighed. “Good _night_ , my dear Captain,” he said, shaking his head, and he left the tavern for his room near the library.

They used all sorts of other words, in talking about it with others - comrade, acquaintance, _kadan_ \- but they really had become friends, somewhere in passing.

And, eventually, they would say such things aloud, and further.

They just had to spend a little time in the Fade, together, first.

 


	4. Catch Me I'm Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features a narrative of internalized homophobia.

Of all the things Bull had learned in his time as a soldier, it was not the skills with weapons or strategies that he found most valuable, but the tools he was provided for the business of dealing with emotions.

There were counselors, methods of coping, when the stresses of battle proved too strong. Dehumanization, disassociation - easy, when facing what were practically mortal demons, in Seheron, horned giants dripping blood and malice. Moving past his fallen men - a little more difficult, but revenge could be a fine source of power, in the right context. Just so long as it didn’t burn you alive.

(There’d been days where he’d had to douse himself in darkness and quiet, when the heat of hopelessness grew so hot it threatened to melt his heart.)

And, then, there was panic, frenzy, and keeping your head through it all. That came easily to him.

It was simple, really: when things go wrong, focus on whomever’s panicking worse than you, and help them. You do that, you forget your panic. Fix the problem, and you fix yourself.

Finding himself in the Fade, Bull only need a moment to readjust. Rocks floating in the sky, that Grey Warden standing upside-down on a wall, light without a sun - okay. Freaky, but okay. He just needed to find a problem.

Bull took inventory as his senses cleared; six people were present. The Inquisitor, Kari; the Champion, Hawke; the Warden, Loghain; his comrades, Dorian and Cole; himself.

“Where _are_ we…?” said Loghain.

“If I’m not mistaken,” Dorian said, the shivering in his voice either fear or excitement, “I believe we have physically entered the _Fade_.”

“Everyone okay?” Hawke said.

“No, no, no, no…! This isn’t right, this isn’t _right…!_ ” Cole was crouched on the ground nearby, his hands cupping his face, eyes wide through his fingers.

“Cole…? What’s wrong?” Kari said; she was sitting up not far away. “Is this not the Fade?”

“No, this is the Fade, but - no, why can’t I…?” Cole was shaking his head, hyperventilating. “There’s too much, too much _me_ , too much different, no, no, no, no…”

Well, this wasn’t a problem Bull knew the answer to, but at least he could keep the focus on it. “Easy, kid, easy. We aren’t going to stay here any longer than we need to.”

Even though the plan for getting out was about as vague as their surroundings were. There was a tear in what functioned as a sky, and with the Wardens on the other side summoning a demon-gate of some kind, it was their best chance out.

It became very quickly apparent that they were not alone. They were followed, assaulted by little fears, demons in the shapes of fear. They looked like children, to Bull, bloodied and burned and maimed. Children with faces he knew, or had known, before Seheron’s war devoured them. He tried not to look as he cut them down with his greatsword, telling himself that they were nothing more than bad dreams.

(Kari and Hawke saw spiders. Loghain saw the fallen forces of Cailan. Dorian saw Arvaarad, endless in their pursuit. Cole saw them as they were.)

There was the Divine-Spirit, the gentle, glowing enigma, guiding them towards some kind of truth.

And, of course, there was the master of all fears. Unseen, but ever-present, and wanting them _all_ to know it was there.

It gave them a graveyard, names and fears carved on the buried stones.

(Bull feared: Punishment.)

(Dorian feared: Captivity.)

Its voice had fingers, deep and prying. It purred and it bragged and it pulled so much forward.

(Like Cole, at his worst. And the Nightmare knew this.)

“Are you afraid, Cole? I can help you forget,” it rumbled, its voice pleasant and kind. “Just like _you_ help other people. We’re so _very_ much alike, you and I.”

Kari was holding Cole’s hand, pulling him along with all the bravery she could muster. His grip had been weak, before, but his hand squeezed at hers as the words settled.

“No,” Cole said.

It moved onto more visceral fears, the further they traveled, the more Kari began to remember. The words became sharper, with more hurt behind them.

“Saarebas, you have no idea what you’re doing,” it said. “You think the Qun had no place for you, but it was the only place you were _safe_. If you’re not bound, a demon will possess you, and you’ll have no-one to blame but yourself. Your Arvaarad can’t save you any more.”

“I’m fine on my own, thank you,” Dorian said. His voice cracked.

It went for Hawke, Loghain, next. Their military failures, the people they betrayed, let down.

Bull expected the same. They were so close to the fissure, now, and the Nightmare was getting desperate.

(The Nightmare was a creature of subtleties.)

“Captain Taurius Ferrus. So curious for a man with so much experience to remain so low in the ranks. I wonder why that is?” it said.

Bull gripped his weapon. He breathed through his nose. He did not answer.

“Surely, there must be a reason. It can’t be failure in your job, but… a lapse in reputation, perhaps?”

He gripped his weapon. He breathed through his nose. He did not answer.

“The Imperium doesn’t want degenerates in its highest ranks, Taurius. How many men do you think have kissed and told, to save their own skins?”

“I’m right where I’m supposed to be,” Bull said, lowly.

The look of fear on Dorian’s face turned to worry, maybe even sympathy, as they cut through the last of the Fearlings.

They made it out, in the end. Loghain confronted the great monstrosity to buy them time, a grim, but satisfied smile on his face as he went.

(Cole, whose mind was a tempest of thoughts and fears and everything too much at once, heard a pain going away, a promise: “I’ll make this up to you, Cailan.”)

The Fade spat out the five of them in the middle of Adamant, surrounded by terrified Wardens and the panicked remainders of the Inquisition. Kari showed mercy towards the Wardens - the ones who had surrendered, anyway - but she got away from everything as quickly as she could, too physically and mentally exhausted for much else.

(Spiders, spiders she could handle - they were just creepy and crawly and unpleasant. The uncertainty of her position, of her power, and how easily she might let everyone down - _that_ truly scared her.)

(And seeing Cole so upset, so _unlike_ himself, that was another kind of fear.)

The party limped back to Skyhold on very little sleep, with nobody resting well until they were all safely within the confines of the castle. The ones who had been in the Fade seemed only to have had it a little worse than the rest.

(The Nightmare had left small, bleeding wounds, and they festered.)

Kari made herself scarce, in the wake of Adamant, though she sought reassurance with Josephine and Cassandra, with regards to her leadership. She’d done her best, was _doing_ her best, and she wasn’t alone. The thoughts circled her like vultures.

Cole wasn’t visiting her like he used to. Except when he was absolutely needed, he couldn’t be found at all by anyone.

(Varric worried, feeling anxious, wondering if what had happened in the Fade had done something to him.)

(Solas noticed, but did not worry, since he was certain Cole had his reasons to be absent.)

(Cole sat on rooftops, on towers, away from the din of pain in the castle below. His own hurting had risen like a tide, and he would drown if he had to drink it in all at once.)

(He had to remember who he was, hear his own heart, the need to help, or else, or else…)

(A binding.)

Dorian similarly shut himself away in the library. Of course, he remained cheerful in conversation to anyone that approached him, enough so that nobody noticed his physical distance, the fearful sincerity behind some of his words.

“Oh, really, I’m fine here,” he assured Vivienne, when he declined an offer for tea. “I’m reading this most _fascinating_ book and it’s rather hooked me in. Shall I lend it to you when I’m done?”

“I must study up, you know, or else I’ll be even _more_ dangerous to be around than I already am,” he told Varric, who came up the stairs to check on him after several no-shows for supper.

“Might be a bad idea to have a Saarebas out and about, after all that business with the mages and the demons,” he said to Sera. “I’m quite literally a dangerous thing, don’t you know.”

“I don’t care _what_ you are,” Sera replied, yanking on his arm. “You’re drinkin’ with me tonight, come on.”

(Dorian’s whole body tensed at Sera’s touch, but he smoothed it into a stumble, a pratfall, nothing she would worry over.)

The Herald’s Rest was, coincidentally, where Bull was spending most of his time, those days. He wasn’t so much hiding as he was testing himself, and resorting to distractions in the meantime.

He would loosen himself with drink, and then he would find a girl who looked like she needed a pick-me-up, and after making sure that she was up for it, he would take her back to his room and let the rest happen naturally.

He never had any difficulty, not once, even with the handicap of alcohol. He loved being with women. He loved the way they smelled and felt in his hands, the soft heaviness of their bodies as they rode him until they were satisfied. He loved them for what they were, not what they weren’t.

Yet, still…

Yet, still, he would catch himself staring at soldiers, bare-chested and shining with sweat as they trained in the yard. The curves of hard muscle and strength, phantom manifestations of longing in the palms of his hands. Flesh matching flesh, the musky smell of another man beneath him.

He could will those thoughts away, and on the nights when he couldn’t, he sought release with himself, shamefully holding the deviant needs behind his eyes.

But there were always men, men with less shame, less to lose than him. The odd smoky-eyed stranger at the bordello; poets and self-styled princes with wine in their glasses; eye contact, a conversation, followed by a hot, hurried coupling in the alley behind.

(There had been Rilenius, that beautiful, whiskey-dark man, so confident and well-armored with wealth.)

(Rilenius could afford a scandal or two, a lover of any sex, a mistress, a master. He was an open window, an ever-welcoming “Yes.”)

(Taurius had a widowed mother, and his mother had a farm, and the farm was tended by freedmen, and they all needed pay.)

(One day, he had to tell Rilenius “No.”)

There had been so few men, truly. He’d been careful, discrete with each one. He would not let the rare lapse in conduct label him a deviant.

(Nor would he let the same brush tar his own men. It began with Cremisius, and rumors from parallel soldiers that he was a woman in disguise. Taurius had a private conversation with him; information was shared in confidence and relief in finding an ally, a fellow outlier. Taurius then sent a few letters, gave a few orders, and the soldier became his lieutenant.)

(Nobody ever again questioned Captain Ferrus’s right hand, not when it was on legal record that Cremisius was a man with an unfortunate, but lived-with, disfigurement.)

(In this manner, he began collecting his men. The lost and the hidden tended to find each other, somehow, and Bull wanted to keep them safe in the forces.)

He carried on, safely, with women, for unnecessary reassurance. He was not some limp-dicked invert, sated only by the touch of other men. He had no trouble, there.

Yet, still, he feared.

(And Fear had made this known, though none of them had Imperium ties.)

(Yet, still.)

Sera pulled Dorian into the tavern, that one night. Eyes met.

“Oy, mind if we sit here?” Sera said, sitting next to Bull anyway. “I’m buyin’.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bull said.

Sera grinned. “All right, you, let’s get you good and liquored, yeah?” she said, shoving Dorian good-naturedly. “I’ll be right back.”

She left. And Dorian and Bull were near each other for the first time since Adamant.

There was a mutual, awkward, twiddling-thumb silence. “Er, so, how have you been?” Dorian said, cracking first.

Bull had chosen to preoccupy himself with his mug, but it wasn’t much use. “Huh?”

“Since… _you_ know… all that business last week, with the Wardens, and…” Dorian’s shoulders slumped, and he sighed. “Well, _you_ were there.”

A tiny flame of an annoyance lit Bull’s stomach: Dorian was sitting to his left. He couldn’t look back at him without making it obvious. “What about it?” he said, keeping his face forward.

“Just wondering if…” Dorian sighed again. “Never mind.”

Damn it. Bull turned his head, putting his mug down. “Come on, spit it out. What is it?”

“...just wondering how you’ve been feeling, since. That’s all.”

Heat in his stomach, and in his head. Bull let out an ugly chuckle. “Sure.”

“Well, young Cole and Kari don’t seem to be faring well,” Dorian continued, frowning, “and I haven’t… seen much of you, so I was curious.”

“‘Curious’ really the word you want to be using?” Bull said.

“...pardon?”

Bull drained his mug. “A demon drags out all my dirty laundry and you’re _curious_ ,” he said. “I’m not telling you anything.”

Dorian lowered his eyes, thinking, keeping distant. “I had no intention of asking,” he said. “Just seeing how you were.”

“Not saying anything,” Bull said, into his empty mug.

Dorian laced grey fingers together and maintained his prudence.

Sera came back with the drinks, and Bull tucked into his next one a bit too quickly.

Sera did most of the talking, following. The subject never strayed anywhere near the Fade; Sera wasn’t fond of “freaky magic stuff,” and Dorian wasn’t going to press the issue. Bull drank, as an excuse.

By the time Bull began nodding off, past tipsy but not stumbling-drunk, Dorian had only just finished his own mug. Sera had gone through at least three, by then, and was all the cheerier for it. “Looks like someone’s sleepsy,” she said, with a string of giggles. “You done for the night, Cap?”

Bull pushed himself upright and rubbed his good eye. “Yeah.”

“S’all right. You’ve sure had a lot.”

Bull pushed himself to standing and wobbled a little. “Yeah.”

“Er, do you need some help, getting back?” Dorian said, a hand raised. “To your room, I mean.”

Still to his left. Bull squinted, reading the expression: worry; genuine, no lust or hunger behind it.

“Sure, why not,” he said.

Dorian stood. “I won’t take long, Sera,” he said.

“Pshh. Take all the time. I’ll be here.” She was smirking for no discernable reason, her head propped up on her hand.

Dorian followed Bull out of the tavern from a safe distance; close enough to catch him, if he stumbled, but no more. Bull’s quarters were around the corner from the tavern, his room contained in a block with the rest of his men.

It was late, and a quiet evening, at that. Nobody else was really around.

(Private, discrete.)

“...look, whatever that demon said, that nightmare-thing - that’s not something you’re going to go spreading around, all right?” Bull said, just outside his door.

“What?”

“Men… kissing, and things,” Bull said. “That’s not me, I’m not like that all the time. I mean.” He seethed at himself, and held a palm to his wrinkled forehead. “I’m not a fucking pervert, all right?”

“...no, of course you’re not,” Dorian said, after a cautious pause.

“Don’t give me that,” Bull said. His lip curled. “It’s not natural and it’s not worth talking about.”

Dorian didn’t say anything, just standing away.

“Oh, come on, what is it?” Bull said. He crossed his arms, leaning against the closed door. “You want to say something, say it.”

“I don’t think it’s anything to be ashamed of, if you fancy the occasional man,” Dorian said.

Bull had seen, experienced, tacit approval of such things; it was rife in Skyhold, the camps, Orlais - _especially_ Orlais.

Nobody had ever said this, much less _told_ him, with words, and so clearly.

Despite himself, Bull’s posture, his face loosened. “What?”

“It really isn’t that much of an issue, at least down here,” Dorian said. There was a measured, patient tone in his voice. “Nobody will think anything of it if you’re seen being… affectionate with a man.”

Bull sighed. “Down here, maybe. But if word made it back to Tevinter…”

“This isn’t Tevinter,” Dorian said.

“I’m still here for the Imperium. I serve the Archon. Might as well be.”

Dorian lowered his eyes. “Of course. Still, you deserve to be happy with whomever you choose,” he said. “Love shouldn’t make you fearful.”

The heat in Bull’s stomach had been replaced by tension, longing, _want_. He deflected with wit, a dry chuckle. “They teach that in the Qun?”

“...no, actually. There isn’t even a word for ‘love’ in Qunlat,” Dorian said, quietly.

“...that so.”

“Well, there’s no real _need_ for it,” Dorian said, his voice brightening suspiciously. “Only people you’re allowed to have sex with are the Tamassrans and the people the Tamassrans assign to you. It’s dreadfully boring, even if you’re getting what you want. What’s available out here is so much more… _exciting_.”

Bull laughed; Dorian had managed to make him laugh, and he was only barely questioning why. “Guess you’re an expert at this, then.”

“I’ve had my fair share of experiences,” Dorian said. “And hardly a one drew any attention for the men I’ve dallied about with. It’s the horns and the whole _qunari_ thing that draw the most ire, I’ve found.”

“You suppose it’s not that different for humans, then?”

“Well, I think I’ve a bit more experience with this than you - though I don’t want to assume anything, my dear Captain,” Dorian said. “You’re certainly more popular with the ladies than I imagine I’d be, if I were in the market for them.”

Bull straightened his posture, feeling suddenly defensive. “That’s not just for show, you know. I’ll sleep with any woman any damn day.”

“You don’t need to convince me!” Dorian said, and he laughed. “I think you ought to get some sleep, really.”

“Yeah,” Bull said. He laughed, once, loosening again, and reached for the door handle. “Yeah.”

“You really should feel free to be happy, though,” Dorian said. “There are a lot of fine men, down south. Would be a shame if you passed up on an exceptional one just because of what the stuffy old Imperium would think.”

Bull opened his door, and furrowed his brow. “I am _not_ looking for men,” he said. “And don’t go telling people I am, either.”

“As you say,” Dorian said, smirking. “They’ll flock your way, regardless, I imagine, much as your lady-companions do. You are, yourself, quite exceptional, my dear Captain.”

A pointed glare. “Good _night_ , Dorian.”

Another smirk, another knowing laugh. “Goodnight, Bull.”

Bull closed the door behind him and removed his eyepatch, his leg-brace, in a smooth, automatic fashion, but otherwise stumbled into bed. He felt light-headed, dizzy. It wasn’t the drink.

Maybe it was the illusion of freedom that Dorian presented to him, the ease with which he talked about such things. To speak so boldly about being with another man - he was maybe a little envious, but only a little. This wasn’t sustainable, wasn’t feasible, not so long as he served, and needed to serve.

Maybe it was the reassurance - no, it was just a statement. It was still… _wrong_ to indulge in such things, selfish and deviant. But Dorian believed that there was nothing to be ashamed of, here. That he had nothing to be ashamed of.

Maybe it was just Dorian.

A qunari, taller than he was, skin the color of a black pearl, his body lean and hunger-sculpted. A kind man, despite all the shit he’d been through. A man who was not disgusted, not ashamed by affection between other men.

...Maker’s mercy, Bull needed to sleep.

He retired to bed, sorting through and setting aside the chains of thought. These were superfluous things, not worth dwelling upon. There were other things to consider.

He would not realize for some time that the nightmare deserted him, that night, rendered powerless by a strange new strength in his heart.

 


	5. People Will Say We're In Love

Dorian was having quite a lovely day.

The Inquisitor and her retinue had been invited to a ball by the Orlesian Grand Duke Gaspard, and for that purpose, they needed appropriately formal attire.  Vivienne was more than happy to volunteer her connections to the cause, and not long after, a seamstress friend of hers arrived at Skyhold to have everyone fitted.

The seamstress insisted on having everyone fitted at once, since she assured them she would be quick, and it would save them all time; she was a very busy woman that could not afford the spare minutes it would take for them to undress, be measured, and dress themselves again if they formed a queue.

The result of this was a room with seven men in nothing but their smallclothes, and a seamstress with a knife-sharp sense of humor.  The women would have their turn later.

Yes, Dorian was having _quite_ a lovely day.  Why, of course, there were some marvelous views to be had, but he was having terrific fun making innocent observations and judgments as well.

(For example, for all the talk Solas had about working on his muscles, his physique was remarkably stringy and sunken of chest.)

Dorian noticed, most immediately, the way that everyone held themselves, as they waited.  Blackwall had his arms crossed over an impressively furry chest, though more out of impatience than modesty, it seemed; Cullen tried to put on similar airs, but there was a blush to his cheeks that suggested otherwise.  Cole looked scrawny and uncomfortable and maybe a little scared, like a wet cat; Varric had helped him undress, and was reassuringly touching his arm every now and then while they waited.

(“No, kid, it’s not going to hurt,” he had to explain.  “It’s just your shirt, not your skin.”)

(Cole had been very anxious, it seemed, since Adamant.  Dorian couldn’t rightly claim to know if his behavior was more or less odd than usual, though there had been an instance where Cole had woken him to ask if he had any books about binding demons.  Dorian did not, and he remembered nothing else about the encounter but a vague uneasiness.)

And then, of course, there was Bull.  Bull kept his eyes to the floor, when there was absolutely no reason to.  The poor man.

The least Dorian could do was reassure him, when it was his turn for fitting.  “Do you have dress uniforms in the Imperium, Captain?” he asked.

“‘Course we do, same as everyone,” Bull said.  He had his arms raised, the seamstress circling him with a tape measure.

“I imagine it’s all dragons and silks,” Dorian said.  “Or am I mistaken?”

“You are… a little mistaken.” 

Bull was smiling a little.  Good.  “About what, the silks or the dragons?” Dorian continued.

“Silk.  That stuff ruins way too easily.”

“Arms down, please,” the seamstress said.  Bull obeyed.

“I bet you look a _treat_ in them,” Dorian said.  “Though, I imagine Commander Cullen and the Warden here are a fine sight in their own regalia.  What exactly _does_ a Grey Warden wear for fancy dress?”

“Griffins and silverite, s’far as I can tell,” Blackwall replied.  “Aren’t many occasions for a Grey Warden to dress up, though.”

“Never hurts to be prepared,” Dorian said.

“What do they do in the Qun when they want to get fancy?” Bull continued.

“Oh, it’s all bare chests and body paint,” Dorian replied, waving a hand dismissively.

“Just the men, or…?”

“Oh, no, men and women both,” Dorian replied.

“Tits out and everything?” Bull said, with an explosive laugh.  “Incredible.”

“You know, I’ll never understand why you southerners make such a fuss about it,” Dorian said.  “It’s really nothing but a difference in size, if you think about it.”

“He’s got a point,” the seamstress added, marking down the circumference of Bull’s arm in her notebook.

“If you say so,” Bull said.  “Wouldn’t mind seeing some of that Qunari fancy dress sometime.  That would be a _sight._ ”

“I’m sure you’ll get the opportunity,” Dorian replied.  “I’d be glad to give a demonstration _any_ time, personally.”

“I guess I can settle for that, if that’s what it comes to.”  Bull was smirking, without effort, and his eye was relaxed.  Dorian took enormous pleasure in seeing that - though Cullen’s increasingly red face from the discussion was a close second.

Once everyone was fitted, they quickly got to work getting dressed again.  Dorian didn’t take terribly long - truthfully, Cole took longest, with Varric trying, and failing, to convince him to put his shirt on the right way round - but he was the last to leave.  There were some things he needed assured. 

“I do hope I don’t present too much difficulty with my size,” he told the seamstress, once she seemed adequately freed-up.

The seamstress fixed her mouth to one side of her face, skeptical and steely.  “You kidding?  I haven’t had a challenge like this for months.  You’ll be fine.”

She was entirely correct.  A month later, the shipment of dress uniforms arrived at Skyhold, all red velveteen and glorious.  Dorian’s fit perfectly, when he tried it on, which very much impressed him.

“So, how did you find your new clothes?” Dorian asked Bull, over what were now nightly shared drinks.  “Too few dragons?”

“Could have done without the fancy shoulder-things,” Bull replied.  He snorted.  “Orlesians.”

“I personally found them quite… what’s the word… modest?” Dorian said, drumming his fingers on his mug.

“Modest?”

“Not exactly _plain_ , I mean, just… understated.”

“Ah, makes sense.”  Bull went for another sip of ale.  “When you said ‘modest,’ I thought you were talking about having your chest covered up.”

“ _That_ is not modesty, my dear Captain, that is merely cultural difference,” Dorian replied.

Bull chuckled a little.  “Can you imagine if you showed up all… painted up, though?”

“I imagine they’d think I was declaring war on them,” Dorian said.  “Which is rather against the point, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Though no less glorious, surely.”

Bull laughed, warmly.  “Yeah.”

\--

Despite Josephine’s fears, the ball was not a complete disaster for the Inquisition.

There was, of course, the assassination attempts, and the navigation of machinations, and the whole business with Florienne, but that was to be expected.  They’d come prepared for that, and performed quite well.

Rather, Josephine’s worries were more along the lines of someone gravely insulting a potential ally by forgetting the steps to the _allemande_.  Thankfully, no such thing happened; Kari’s dance with Duchess Florianne, in fact, had her so overjoyed from the lack of failure that Josephine clasped the Inquisitor’s hands in her own and told her how proud she was, once everything had finally settled.  Kari was baffled and delighted all at once.

The ball was actually quite enjoyable, once Florianne had been arrested and all political parties reconciled with each other.  All that was left were lingering plays at the Game, and loose and undignified dancing, and very much alcohol, all mingling easily into each other.

Kari took advantage of the quiet and the lack of scrutiny to gather herself up, and check on those who weren’t doing as well as she was.  Which was saying something, considering how nervous she’d been about the whole affair, especially when it came to speaking.  But Josephine had trained her well, and she felt fairly empowered, knowing she hadn’t let everyone down.

Everyone else seemed to be doing well, enjoying the finger-foods and drinks carried about on trays.  Save one.

She found Cole in the library, where he’d been hiding for most of the evening, emerging only when he felt the Inquisition’s need for him.  He was leaning over a balustrade, watching the people below; without his hat, he looked like a flower without its petals.

“Hey, you - doing all right?” Kari asked, approaching him.

“Better,” Cole said.

“Yeah, there’s a… lot of people here,” Kari said.  “It must be really - loud for you.”

“Loud,” Cole said.  “But… not that bad.  Not like before.”

Kari leaned against the balustrade next to him, her head tilted, listening.  “Before?”

“Before I became more human,” Cole said.  “I hear _myself_ more than I hear _them_.  It hurts, but it’s not as loud.  It’s not so bad.”

“Anything I can do to help…?”

An awkward, wrinkled-paper smile crossed Cole’s face, though he wasn’t looking at her.  “No.  I’m fine.  I’m just not used to so many people looking at me.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Kari said, laughing a little.

“People like looking at you, though.”

Kari’s face felt very suddenly and unpleasantly warm.  “Uh… really?”

“You’re very big,” Cole said, as if that explained everything.

Kari’s hand rose self-consciously to the horn spiraling around her right ear.  “Sure…”

“People look at you and they feel safe,” Cole said.  “They know you can help.”

“They do?”

“Yes.  Warm-milk white, held high with hope.  You.  It’s a good thing.”

The heat in Kari’s face had tempered, and her defensive smile lessened.  “That’s nice to know.”

“I’d like people to know I can help,” Cole continued.  “When they look at me.”

“What do - people think of when they see you, now?”

Cole tilted his head, a troubled frown on his face.  “ _What a strange boy.  Where did he come from?  Poor thing.  Looks so out of place._   They want to help _me_ , instead.  That’s not how it should be.”

Kari chewed on her lip, on the right words to say.  “It’s - all right for people to want to... help you, you know…” she finally said.  “It’s okay.”

Cole didn’t say anything, his face still creased with frustration.

“Hey…!  I have an idea.  Do you - want to try dancing a little?”

Cole looked at her, confusion changing the folds on his face.  “Dancing?”

It was an odd, impulsive idea - but, for some reason, it felt like a decent course of action.  “Yes,” Kari said.  “I was just thinking - I don’t know - maybe if they see you having fun they won’t… pity you so much?  I don’t know…”

Cole tilted his head, blinked once, twice.  “I’m not very good at dancing,” he said.

“I can help with that…!” Kari said.  “I mean.  Josephine taught me, so, I can teach you?”

“Yes,” Cole said.  Kari held out her hand, and he took it.

The dancing that followed was, to put it politely, extraordinarily clumsy.  Cole’s feet were a tangle of rhythms, and Kari’s head-and-a-half of height above him certainly didn’t help matters.

“They look rather like a pair of newborn calves trying to frolic about, don’t they?” Dorian said, looking on at them.

Bull, a little wine-drunk, chuckled inelegantly.  “Our fearless leader,” he said.

“Shall we show them how it’s done?”

Bull’s eyes narrowed to the point of nearly closing.  “...huh?”

“Let’s you and I have a little dance, I think,” Dorian said.  “Would be a shame if those two end up _shaming_ the Inquisition’s collective dancing skills.  Lady Montilyet would be _heartbroken_.”

Dorian was holding out his hand.  He was smiling.

Bull was looking at everything but him.  “You serious?  Won’t that… look odd?”

“ _What_ would look odd?  A Tevinter dancing with a qunari?” Dorian said.  “It’d hardly be the most scandalous sight of the evening.”

“I’m talking about… a man dancing with a man,” Bull mumbled.

Dorian’s expression softened with sympathy.  “By my record, I’ve seen at least _three_ pairs of men waltzing, tonight, not to mention our dear Inquisitor’s turn with the Duchess.”

Bull was hardly convinced, his eyes still shifting uneasily.

“This is _Orlais_ , my dear Captain!  Nobody cares.”

He still had his hand extended in offering.

“Dance with me,” Dorian said.

Bull looked around; at the people watching and not-watching; at the Inquisitor’s clumsy waltz; at Dorian, so open, so impossibly accepting, so… _sure_ of himself.

“All right,” Bull said, “but I’m leading, okay?”

“Fair enough, my friend.”

And he took Dorian’s hand.

The first few turns of the waltz dizzied him - perhaps the wine, perhaps the motion, perhaps the sheer brazen nature of the act.  He had his hand on Dorian’s waist, he had Dorian moving with him, as if they were right where they were supposed to be.

Nobody was whispering, or staring.

Somewhere in the dance, Bull relaxed.  He began to enjoy himself.

“There, now, that’s not so hard, is it?” Dorian said.  The pull of his body had settled into a fine and perfect rhythm.  “You’re a natural.”

“What, you don’t think we dance in Tevinter?” Bull replied.

“I doubt your usual dancing partners are nearly as tall as me,” Dorian said.

“You’d be surprised,” Bull said.  “Lots of tall ladies in the Imperium.”

“And the men?”

“What do you think?”  There was a slight edge to Bull’s voice.

“Surely not all as impressive as you.”

Bull squeezed Dorian’s hand, intended as a warning - maybe.  “You keep that up, I’m not giving you another dance.”

Dorian’s hand relaxed, and he dipped his head, thoughtfully.  “Point taken.”

For some reason, Bull did not feel satisfied with this.  One dance ended, punctuated with applause, and another began.  Bull allowed Dorian another dance.  Then, another.

The dance was a place, after a time.  A place of safety, warmth, even a kind of healing.  There was just him, and Dorian, and the fact that their contact - innocent and intimate all at once - wasn’t putting either of them in danger.  Bull didn’t want to leave.

But dances ended, and bodies tired, and eventually, Bull had to let go.  “I gotta go catch my breath,” he said, breathing deeply, pointing needlessly at one of the balconies.

“Go on ahead,” Dorian said.  His face wore a weak smile, and his skin shone with sweat.

On the balcony, Bull propped himself up on the balustrade and took in the cool air like water, letting his heart slow and his senses sharpen.  Reality settled back into his bones; this was, all of it, a momentary diversion, a temporary haven.  There was work and duty and judgment, outside of the palace, outside of the Inquisition.

(He told himself, had to keep telling himself.)

(No matter how good it felt.)

“Do you mind if I join you?”

(No matter what he felt.)

Dorian had stepped onto the balcony.  The moonlight caught on his grey skin, his gilded horn-stumps, the blue silk sash across his chest.  He was radiant, even beautiful, in that moment.

Something twisted and groaned in Bull’s chest.  “What…?”

“I could use a bit of a breather, myself.  May I?”

“Yeah, sure…”

Dorian joined him, leaning over the balustrade, his gaze relaxed and wandering over the garden.

A stormy tangle of motivations rolled into Bull’s thoughts.  Dorian had been saying things, doing things, suggestive things.  And now he was here, for an excuse of a reason, surely.  Why…?

“Everything all right?” Dorian asked.  He turned his head; their eyes were at the same level.  His lips were gently-parted.

(This was a temporary place, but it was a safe one.)

Bull leaned forward, impulsively, suddenly, and he kissed Dorian on the mouth.  Not a passionate kiss; there was no hand on Dorian’s face, for balance, for intimacy.  It was an action of the moment, there and gone.

Bull pulled away from him with a small gasp, half of an apology already on his lips.  But Dorian was smiling - a pitying smile.

“Well, now, you’ll have to do better than that when a real catch comes along.”

Half an apology resulted anyway.  “I’m… sorry?”

“I’d been hoping this whole night would be a sort of demonstration for you, but, really, kissing a man isn’t that different from kissing a woman,” Dorian continued.  “You shouldn’t have any trouble, if the time should come.”

“Oh… right, sure…”

Dorian’s intentions _had_ been innocent.  He’d just been trying to help.  He fancied men, but he didn’t fancy his “dear Captain.”

Bull was an idiot.

“Sorry, really, I sort of got caught up in… the night, I guess,” Bull continued, quickly.

“No offense taken at all, my dear Captain,” Dorian said, waving his hand.  “I can’t hardly blame you, after all.”

The words, “my dear.”  Like _kadan_ , just something meant for affection, for friendship, not love.

( _Kadan_ , that strange, hard word, that fit stubbornly into everything, as if insisting it belonged.)

“I think I’m going to get to bed.  Before I embarrass myself any further,” Bull said, shaking his head, sighing.

“You haven’t embarrassed yourself at all, don’t worry,” Dorian replied.

Bull’s hot face, his heart pounding in his ears, said otherwise.  “Thanks, Dorian.  For the help, I mean.”

“Any time, _kadan_.”

Bull went for the door, turning his face away as quickly as he could, so Dorian couldn’t see him wincing.  The word twisted in him like a screw.

Stupid, so stupid.  The first man he met that truly didn’t have a problem with such things, and he just went and assumed that there was _interest_.  It was about as fair as presuming that a - that a flirtatious woman would reciprocate his own advances.  He was a fool.

(But even Rilenius had never been so forward, so open.  Rilenius had never danced with him, not in front of so many people.)

“Taurius…?”

Damn it, Dorian was following him.  Bull didn’t look back.

“Taurius, really, it’s all right.”  His voice was gentle.  “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you were required to pay me back, for the dance and all; I’d be hardly deserving of it, anyways.”

Why was he apologizing? 

(He was using his full name, the name that wasn’t meant for friends.  He was being cautious.)

“Look, just - forget it, okay?”  Bull was almost to the partitioned-off suites of the palace, provided by the Empress for the Inquisition.  The hallways were quiet, the crumb-and-glass remains of the party scattered on the floor.  “I made a mistake.  It won’t happen again.”

“Well… again, I do apologize,” Dorian said.  “I’m really not deserving of your affections.  I’d be a terrible suitor.”

Bull wasn’t going to let words pull him into the abyss of delusion again.  “It’s fine,” he said.  “You don’t need to apologize.”

They’d reached the suites, finally.  Bull rested his hand on the wall by his door, his head bowed.  He couldn’t leave it like this.

He looked back over his shoulder.  Dorian carried regret in his face, in his hands, knotted together at his waist.

“And… honestly, you _are_ worthy of my affection.  If you were ever looking for it, I mean,” he added, quickly,  catching himself.  “You’re a nice guy, Dorian.  Don’t sell yourself short.”

Dorian’s eyebrows rose.  His smile was awkward, delighted.  “I’ll take that to heart, then.”

(No delusions, no false hope.)

“Go get some sleep, now, all right?” Bull said.  “It’s been a long day.”

“You worry far too much about me, my dear Captain,” Dorian said.

Bull sighed, a sarcastic dog-smirk on his mouth.

“All right, all right, I’ll go rest,” Dorian conceded.  “Good night, Bull.”

“Night, _kadan_.”

(A hard, strange word; a word for people you were fond of.  Comrade, friend.)

(Why that word, now?)

Bull retired to his chamber, wrestling with intentions and wants and meanings until he fell asleep.  Flirtation was not a promise of reciprocation.  Dorian didn’t think of him that way.

(Oh, but some part of him wanted, and wanted, and hated the wanting.)

(But Rilenius would never have danced with him like that.)

Dorian didn’t deserve to have this forced upon him.

He couldn’t let this turn into anything resembling love.

\--

Dorian slept upright, out of habit, propped up in the Orlesian bed with several pillows.  Well, he tried to sleep, anyways.  Tides of thoughts kept him too disturbed to drift off.

Taurius was ever so gracious and accepting of him; as handsome as he was kind.  He was far more than Dorian would ever deserve.

He couldn’t let this fester with false hope.  Encouragement was not a guarantee of reciprocation. 

(Taurius had just gotten caught up in the moment, in the relief of a revelation.  Which filled Dorian with joy, and a relief of his own, but it couldn’t be anything more.)

(But the kiss hadn’t meant anything.)

And, besides, he was a Tevinter, a sworn enemy of... well, what he _used_ to be.  A thin excuse, to be sure, but…  It was a fact, a shield in the face of emotions and delusion.

It would never work out.

(No matter what he felt.)


	6. No More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blanket statement content warning for this chapter, which involves a character being triggered and having a panic attack. Please skip to the endnotes for spoilers!

Dorian seemed to have undertaken a small and determined campaign, following Halamshiral.  The exact nature of the campaign was anyone’s guess, but it seemed to have a vague goal in mind: to get Bull laid.  With another man, specifically.

Dorian’s heart was in the right place, Bull had to suppose.  Really, Bull would do the same, and _had_ done the same for others, pointing out the odd attractive person to his boys.  They were friend, and he and Dorian were friends, and friends liked when their friends were happy.  Bull just wasn’t so sure if _this_ was the kind of happiness that was worth pursuing.

(Temporary, forbidden - if not here, then back home.)

Well, he could at least be nice.  Dorian was just trying to be a good friend to him.

Most every suggestion was turned-down, with varying degrees of politeness. 

To the suggestion of a particularly handsome, thick-browed recruit in the Herald’s Rest: “Eh, he’s had too much to drink.  Wouldn’t be a good time.”

With regards to a particularly stringy young man at Suledin Keep: “You kidding?  I’d snap him in half.”

In response to Dorian’s suggestion of a foppish-looking lad in Val Royeaux: “No way.”

Dorian pouted at Bull’s flat tone.  “Why not?”

“Just look at him,” Bull said.  “He’d have no interest in me.”

“If he truly wouldn’t, then he’s either blind, or a fool,” Dorian replied.

Bull sighed away the suggestion.  “He looks like he’s more into… feminine types.  So, if he wasn’t looking for a woman, he sure wouldn’t be looking for a guy like me.”

“His loss,” Dorian said.

This uncomfortable situation only lasted a few more days, after that.  In fact, it ended at the Herald’s Rest, where it very likely began.

“Now, _that_ is a fine specimen, if I do say so myself.  What do you think, Bull?”

Bull did not respond, diving into his mug in place of his usual dismissal.

“What, nothing to say?” Dorian continued.

(There, the agony peaked.)

“Just give up, Dorian, I don’t think I have a chance,” he said, sighing.

“No chance?  You’re not giving yourself enough credit, I think,” Dorian said.

“It’s not happening.”

There, Dorian sighed.  “Well, my dear Captain, at the end of the day, you still have me, at least.”

Bull had returned to his mug, ready to take a long, slow swallow, but he paused.

(“You still have me.”)

“...sure.  I guess,” he managed, so that the silence did not last.

And the silence did not last, dying as Dorian picked up another, distant thread of conversation, well-removed from handsome youths.  But the feeling lasted.

It lasted until the tavern had begun to empty, and Dorian excused himself for bed.  Bull hadn’t stopped him, staying alone with his thoughts.

(“You still have me.”)

Bull abandoned his mug, and he went to Dorian’s room near the library.

His hand hesitated at the door to his chamber, but he knocked. 

Dorian answered with an alertness in his actions that suggested he hadn’t yet settled in for sleep.  “Bull?  Is everything all right?”

“Can I come in?” Bull said.  He kept his voice quiet.

“Well, of course, just…”  Dorian backed away to let him in, and remained silent as Bull closed the door behind him.  “Taurius?”

“Can you just… tell me what you want, already?”  His voice strained with uncertainty.

“...pardon?”

“I don’t… know what you want from me,” Bull continued.  “Anyone else, I know where I stand, but you…”  His face creased as he closed his eyes, pressed his lips together.

“I’m not… asking anything of you?” Dorian said.  He took another step back, a hand raised to his chest.

“That’s not - that’s not what’s going on here,” Bull said.  “It’s…”  He groaned.  “It’s the dancing, and all this - stuff you’ve been saying, and I just… I need to know.”

“Know… what?”  Dorian’s breath was shallow with caution, with worry.

“Do you want to be with me?”

Dorian could only muster a confused little noise in response.

“Do you - _want_ me, or not?  Because…”  He looked up, frustration and longing in the lines of his face.  “If you want me, you have me.  _Fuck_ , you have me.”

Dorian’s hand wandered to his face, fingers resting on scar-pierced lips.  He was fighting with a smile.  “Is that so?” he said.  “Well… I hardly feel deserving of such an honor, but…  you’re telling me that I _have_ you?  You are, hypothetically, mine for the taking?”

Bull’s face was caught between frustration and tears.

“Do you _want_ me to be with you?” Dorian continued, more softly, more kindly.

Bull didn’t say anything.

(He couldn’t say anything.)

Dorian shook his head, sighed.  “And here I am thinking you weren’t interested.”

Bull exhaled, almost a laugh.  “Is that right?”

“Well, I didn’t want to cross any boundaries by asking!” Dorian said.  “I’ve rather been afraid of that, of late.”

“ _You_ were...!”  Relief and want ate the rest of Bull’s words, and he stepped forward and held Dorian’s face with both of his hands, pulling him down and into a kiss.

For a moment, Dorian did not kiss back.

(Doubt, tense and wound-tight, thrummed in the center of Bull’s chest.)

And then Dorian’s hands were moving, were cradling the back of Bull’s head, holding him secure against his height.  There was want and willingness in his touches, in the small, grateful gasps between actions.  He was kissing back.

Dorian smelled like wine and musk and smoke; he was enormous under Bull’s hands, his grip firmer than a woman’s; he was what Bull needed, in that moment, on that evening.  He was there for the taking.

The impossibility of it all was transforming into an untamed excitement, running hot through Bull’s body and erupting in increasingly-impulsive movements.  He kissed Dorian’s mouth, his neck, tasting, taking him in like a starving man.

Dorian was his.  Dorian was allowing this, was allowing him in.

Impulse gripped his arms and he moved his hands to Dorian’s shoulders, and pushed him down onto the bed.  The difference in size was easier, there; he braced himself with his arm, his good knee.

“Don’t - waste any time, do you?” Dorian said, when his mouth was freed.

“No talking,” Bull said.  “Not now.”

“Mm.”  Dorian’s body relaxed, sinking deeper into the mattress; he kept his arms on Bull’s shoulders.

Bull’s mouth wandered lower - the neck, his collarbone, his shoulders - but couldn’t go any further, not with Dorian’s arms where they were.  He took Dorian’s wrists and pushed them above his head; he hovered above Dorian’s head, for a moment, feeling the qunari’s breath on his face.

“Better,” Bull said - though he paused, eased away, seeing Dorian’s face. 

He looked _scared_. 

“Whoa, hey… you okay?” Bull said, keeping the edge out of his voice.

Dorian let out a little laugh-sigh.  “Just… been a while.  Not used to it, I suppose.”

“Oh, sorry.”  Bull pulled himself back, half-leaning over the bed.

“No, no, don’t let me ruin your fun.  Go on.”  Dorian nestled his head against his lifted arms, softening his eyes.  Bedroom eyes, some people called that.  A deeper sign of want.

Bull exhaled away the lingering tension, and he straddled Dorian’s body with a single, rough motion.  Another moment lingered, eyes on eyes.

(Dorian still look scared.  But Dorian wanted this.  Dorian wanted _him_.  Actually _wanted_ him.)

“Maker, you’re beautiful,” Bull said.

“Not what I usually get, but I’ll take it,” Dorian replied, with a humoring kind of laugh.

“Yeah.”  With that word, Bull returned, with purpose, to Dorian’s body, almost carelessly, almost recklessly.  He could want here.  It was _safe_ here.

He felt his hands returning to old rhythms, rushing and wandering.  Not against a wall, but on a bed, but no matter.  He was wanted, he was safe.

...the problem was Dorian.  Dorian’s face, the doubt in his eyes, but the warmth and willingness in his actions.  He couldn’t lose himself in this, no matter how much he wanted to.

Bull paused and pulled away again.  “Really, are you okay…?” he said.

“Go on - please, go on,” Dorian said, breathing like he had surfaced for water.  He had his eyes closed, his grey skin flushed and darkened.  That was pleasure on his face, it couldn’t have been anything else.

So Bull went on - holding down Dorian’s wrists with his hands, pleasing himself with weight and pleasure - but again, and again, he found himself wanting to stop.  Wanting to comfort Dorian.

And so, the comfort came.  “Easy, easy.  I got you.  You’re okay,” he said, his voice low, his mouth near Dorian’s ear between hungry kisses.

Dorian’s response was heightened breathing, his eyes closed.  A gentle moan eased out of his throat.

(But for all the show, for all the heat in the room, Dorian was not yet aroused.  Bull, still soft himself, hadn’t quite noticed.)

(He wasn’t soft for much longer, however.)

“Get on your stomach,” Bull said.  “Turn over.”

“Mmwhy?” Dorian said, a note of distance in his voice.

“It’ll be easier.  C’mon,” Bull said.

( _this will all be over soon, Imekari_ )

“Whatever you - need, Captain,” Dorian said; the words caught in his throat, for a moment.  He sat up, slowly, to get on his knees, his stomach, whatever Bull was preparing.

Bull was on top of him, kissing his neck, before he could finish turning around.  “I got you,” he said.  “I got you.”

( _I have you, Imekari, do not struggle_ )

Dorian bent his head down between his arms, the fingers of his hands flexed with tension.  “Yes - yes, go on, yes,” he managed.

Bull took his time working down Dorian’s back, so uncommonly smooth.  His hands and their missing fingers traced the lines of his ribs, his spine, a path for his mouth to follow.  In time, he reached the waistband of Dorian’s trousers, to loosen already-loose cotton.

Yet, the tension hadn’t gone anywhere.  Again, Bull paused, his hands just above Dorian’s body.  “Is this… really okay?” he said.

“Yes, yes, don’t - let me stop you,” Dorian said.

( _I’m not trying to hurt you, imekari, this is for your own good._ )

“All right.  It’s okay.”  Bull chuckled awkwardly at himself.  “Sorry, it’s just… it’s been a while.  I’ll try not to hurt you.”

( _I’ll try not to make it hurt_ )

(he had lied)

Dorian lurched forward on the bed so violently that his rump hit Bull square on the chin.

“Ow-!  Hey, what are you-?”  But the hot ache of pain in his jaw was overwritten in an instant.

Dorian was pressed against the headboard, his shoulder a shield between himself and Bull.  His eyes were animal-wide, spooked.  He had one hand over his mouth.

“Dorian, what did I-?”

“...please, don’t touch me,” was all Dorian said.  His voice was fever-weak and breathy.

Bull knew, undeniably, the look that was now on his face.  He had seen it in Seheron, in the faces of the men he had trained and mentored when he came back, when they came back.

(Far, far too familiar.)

Some part of him felt shame, hatred for not noticing sooner, stopping sooner - and it cursed and sputtered in his mental narrative - _fuck, I’m an asshole, fuck! -_ but familiarity smoothed all that over. 

He knew what this was.  He knew how to act.  He knew where he stood with this, unhappy as it left him.

He backed away, slightly.  He didn’t say anything, giving Dorian his space.

Dorian bowed his head, the hand on his mouth slipping to his eyes and forehead in shame.  “...Taurius, I’m sorry, I…”

The safe name. 

“Don’t be sorry.  I obviously did something wrong,” Bull said.  He’d sloughed the lust and want from his voice entirely and wore a tone he used more-often with his men.  “What’s the matter?”

Dorian was trying to turn a grimace into a smile.  “Nothing, nothing.  Stage fright, I suppose.”

“Dorian.  I did something and it upset you.  I don’t want to do that again,” Bull said.  “You don’t… have to go into detail, but just give me an idea of-”

“No, really, it’s nothing - it’s nothing _you_ did.”  Dorian’s grimace erupted into a bitter laugh.  “Too much posturing and not enough courage, that’s what’s at fault, here.”

Bull settled at the other end of the bed with his arms crossed, prepared for further words.  “I reminded you of someone that hurt you.”

Dorian’s pause, his defeated, downward eyes, were enough of an answer.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Bull continued, gently, level-toned.  “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.  I just don’t want you to go through that again if I can help it.”

“...really, it’s nothing you did, not on purpose…” Dorian said.  “And besides, I highly doubt you’ve - been through the same things as I have.”

“Pain’s pain.  You go through enough of it, you start to see patterns,” Bull said.

Something in Dorian relaxed, but was not relieved.  “Really, I’m sorry…”

“It’s all right,” Bull said.  “You just - tell me if I’m saying or doing anything that’s making it come back.  All right?”

Dorian sighed.  “I’ve completely ruined the mood, here, haven’t I?”

“Honestly?  Last thing on my mind right now’s getting you in bed,” Bull said.  A hot smile managed its way onto his face.  “Besides, I got my answer.  I know what you want, now.”

“Do you?”  Dorian’s smile in return was a beautiful, embarrassed thing.

“I know you want to be with me, at least for tonight.”  Finally, yes, he knew.

(And he knew that this, whatever This was, was not a danger to him.  Not here.)

“Well… longer than that, I hope, if you’ll have me,” Dorian said, though his voice grew quiet.  “Though, that all depends on what the Imperium requires of you…”

Bull’s laugh in response was a sudden, brittle shield.  “Yeah.  But… hey, who knows how long this Inquisition thing will last?  Might as well spend it in good company, while I’m here.”

“Good company, am I?”  Another, deepened level of relaxation entered his body.  “You set your bar far too low, my dear Captain.”

“If you say so,” Bull replied.  “Still good company, in my opinion.”

Finally, a comfortable silence.

“You feeling a little better?” Bull asked.

“Oh - yes, erm.”  Dorian sat up, his smile twisting awkwardly.  “We can - continue, if you like.”

“Continue…?”

“You really _were_ doing a lovely job, it’s just…”  He shook himself, like shaking off water.  “That sort of thing won’t happen again, I promise.  I’ve been out of sorts in general, today, anyway...”

(You didn’t force these things, Bull knew.  Force the issue, and you break, and you’re all but guaranteed to lose your man.)

(Even if you wanted so badly that it hurt.)

“Eh, I’m not in the mood any more,” Bull said.

“Ah…  Well, that’s my fault, isn’t it?” Dorian said.  “I really ought to get to bed, anyways.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to _leave_.”

(In that moment, Bull realized,  for all the agonizing he’d done over whether or not Dorian was interested in him, Dorian still couldn’t believe it on his end.)

“Share your bed with me tonight?” Bull continued. “No sex, just… us, together.  That all right?”

“...well, I’ve done stranger things,” Dorian said.  “All right.” 

Bull swung his legs over the side of the bed and began taking off his leg-brace.  Dorian moved to one side of his bed, hands folded on his chest, waiting.

After taking off his eyepatch and dropping it on the bedside table, Bull paused for a moment, finding himself in a very rare predicament: he wasn’t going to be the largest one in the bed.  Normally, he’d be the one doing the holding, but he couldn’t see how that would be possible, here.

(And he wanted to hold Dorian, at least some part of him.  Dorian needed some kind of reassurance after an episode like that.)

“Er, you wouldn’t be offended if I sort of… held onto you, to accommodate this?” Dorian said.  “I admit I’m not terribly used to this sort of thing.”

Bull shrugged.  “Whatever you need,” he said. 

Dorian stretched out an arm, but his eyes were still distant.

"Is it all right if I touch you?  You asked earlier..." Bull said.

"Oh.  Oh - yes, it's fine, now, I'm fine," Dorian said, nodding a few too many times.

Bull joined him on the bed, under his arm.  They tried to settle with themselves and with the moment.

(In both of their instances, they’d rarely, if ever, done such a thing.  Their meetings and couplings with other, male lovers had rarely come with time for rest, much less cuddling.)

(Rilenius had fallen asleep in Bull’s bed, once or twice, but usually out of exhaustion and not out of want.  He was always gone by sunrise, in any instance.)

(Dorian seldom had the privilege of a bed.)

“You northerners always this warm?” Dorian said, shifting his position.

“What are you trying to say?” Bull replied.

“It’s surprising, is all,” Dorian said.  “And… rather nice, actually.”

Bull scoffed.  “You’re a bit of a furnace, yourself.  Maybe that’s true of all us north-types, huh?”

“Mm.”  Dorian leaned his head against the top of Bull’s.  “I’ll have to remember this next time we’re camping.  Someone like you could come in useful.”

“Yeah?  I’ll remember that,” Bull said.  “You need me to keep you warm, you got it.”

“Even if I’m not in the most _romantic_ mood?”

“ _Especially_ ,” Bull said, firmly.   “Even if we never do this again, you’re still my friend.  I take care of my friends.”

“Really?” Dorian said, sounding mildly amused.  “Whatever happened to ‘if you want me, you have me?’”

“Only if _you_ do.  I want what you want,” Bull said.  “You don’t want that from me, that’s fine.  Simple as that.”

He had put one of his hands on Dorian’s chest.  On top of Dorian’s hand.

Dorian closed his eyes, and in a small, genuine voice, he said, “Thank you.”

“It’s okay,” Bull replied.

That night, they both slept without fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER CONTENTS - Bull and Dorian finally kiss, but in the process of making out, Bull's words and actions bring up a past trauma of Dorian's, from when he was a Saarebas, and he panics. The panic resolves with Bull recognizing it as trauma/PTSD/whatever the 'vints call it these days and talking him down from it. - END SPOILERS


End file.
